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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748972">He Who Replaces The Stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrappyRavioli/pseuds/CrappyRavioli'>CrappyRavioli</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>"He Who Replaces the Stars" and adjacent works [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little bit of Achilles!Dream and Patrolcus!George, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based loosely off of the first SMP war and the Iliad, But not exactly, Dream and George are heros who killed the ender dragon, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I shoehorned the first smp war into the shape of the Iliad, I'm not an asshole, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, and they're asked to help in a war, cw for gore, cw for panic attacks, cw for sexual content, cw for suicidal ideation (Chapter 10), cw mental health issues, inspired by the song Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths, it might be rated m for mSad but it's got a lot of fluff and a happy ending, it sounds so upsetting but I swear it's not, realistic minecraft au, updates weekly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:28:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>128,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrappyRavioli/pseuds/CrappyRavioli</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>George sounds so worried and confused, almost pained, and Dream just wants to be okay for him. This was supposed to be their happy ending. They were supposed to kill the dragon together and live happily ever after together and instead here they are, three feet apart on a couch in their mansion and 1,000 miles in too deep.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>He looks back down at the floor, polished diorite with gold accents, and wishes for wood. Something warmer, less impersonal. But that’s ridiculous. This is what they’ve earned. This glory is theirs.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They’ve done it. Dream and George have killed the Ender Dragon— the thing they’ve been working towards for years. By all means, everything should be perfect.</p><p>Everything is not, in fact, perfect.</p><p>When King Technoblade of the Kingdom of Traedor requests their aid in fighting the rebelling province of L’Manburg, what else are they supposed to do but accept?</p><p>In the midst of war, they find themselves in constant pursuit of a happy ending.</p><p> </p><p>Inspired by the song Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>"He Who Replaces the Stars" and adjacent works [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>280</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. To be a Hero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been working on building this idea and writing the first few chapters since the ides of October, and we're finally here! My lovely sister, sheepfriend here on ao3, has been my biggest hype man and the best beta! This fic has been lovely to write, and is still a work in progress! But fear not, Sheep is holding me accountable and the planning for this fic is immense- I'll be updating every friday unless something comes up &lt;3</p><p>Anyways, here are the glorious fruits of my labor!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream’s muscles ache– his legs burn white hot from running and his arms feel like gelatin from swinging his axe and shooting his bow. Everything, every second, every tear cried and shout of triumph and drop of blood and sweat has led to this moment. </p>
<p>It all led to this moment and Dream.</p>
<p>Can’t.</p>
<p>Move.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Icy pain locks his joints, and his bones seem to creak under the strain. The purple fog the dragon has shot over him feels like death itself– thick, creeping, final. </p>
<p>And yet.</p>
<p>The dragon is wounded too, terrible wings torn, oozing a deep black onto the porous, light stone under his feet– it’s letting out terrible cries that resound throughout the empty space and it sounds like a swarm of bees is inside Dream’s skull.</p>
<p>Outside of his own little bubble, he’s vaguely aware of the less resonating bee-swarm sound of George killing and running from swaths of endermen, keeping them away from Dream.</p>
<p>Dream, who’s supposed to be killing the damned dragon.</p>
<p>The dragon, who’s shakily pulling itself up only to fall under its own weight with a resounding <i>thud</i>.</p>
<p>He has to stand up. He has to. Just one more swing of his axe, and it’ll be over– he knows it would be.</p>
<p>The dragon bares its teeth and howls again.</p>
<p>But it’s getting quieter.</p>
<p>That’s a good thing, right?</p>
<p>Except.</p>
<p>George’s fight is quieter too– muffled almost.</p>
<p>All Dream can see is the giant black beast that lays broken in front of him.</p>
<p>A soft, rhythmic, <i>ba dum, ba dum, ba dum</i> grows louder in his ears. It feels almost like safety.</p>
<p>Dream is supposed to be standing up, god damn it. He can’t quite remember why.</p>
<p>Why would he try to do something so impossible, when he could sink into the consuming depth of the ever louder <i>ba dum, ba dum, ba dum</i>?</p>
<p>He can feel his vision growing darker, his eyes slipping shut.</p>
<p>Is this it?</p>
<p>Is this how it all ends?</p>
<p>Everything he’s done–</p>
<p>Everything he and <i>George</i> have done–</p>
<p>George.</p>
<p>His sweet, adorable Gogy.</p>
<p>Maybe he’d have lived a normal life if not for Dream.</p>
<p>Hopefully, he’ll forgive–</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dream!” </p>
<p>The anguish he hears, the panic, it somehow breaks the fog. He’s fighting right now. Maybe Dream is weak, maybe he can’t make it on his own.</p>
<p>But he’s not on his own. George is here.</p>
<p>And maybe Dream is weak, but George is here.</p>
<p>And Dream is strong for George.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An arrow swishes by his face, and he manages to open his eyes.</p>
<p>He hears the thud of the dragon falling before he can register what he sees.</p>
<p>The dragon is closer now, far too close, but it’s once again prone, this time with a wooden arrow sticking straight from one of it’s great, purple eyes. Black ichor drips down it’s face.</p>
<p>George just saved his life.</p>
<p>It isn’t even surprising at this point, not after everything.</p>
<p>Dream pushes himself up, barely, <i>just barely</i>.</p>
<p>Then a shout of pain- Dream can only whip around to see George running, blood smeared across his head and face. “George!” <i>no no no no no, George- </i>please<i> be okay</i>.</p>
<p>“Get the dragon Dream! I’ll be okay!”</p>
<p>Dream, well.</p>
<p>Dream is going to end this. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His body settles.</p>
<p>Everything is numb.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything is calm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stands and he can feel himself shake.</p>
<p>There’s a sort of cold fire burning low in his gut and he thinks it might be anger.</p>
<p>Other than that, there’s nothing.</p>
<p>Nothing, as he takes an unsteady step towards the wailing monster’s head.</p>
<p>Nothing, as another blast of purple fog settles around him, reflecting the nowhere light of the void, and, like death’s blanket, curls softly over his shoulders.</p>
<p>Nothing, even as he knows his lungs should be burning again. </p>
<p>Nothing, not even joy or excitement as the axe plunges deep into the dying dragon’s head.</p>
<p>As his reality explodes into a dancing storm of wailing purples and lavenders and <i>light,</i> he looks up. An enderman, the last attacking him, is disintegrating on the end of George’s sword.</p>
<p>Somewhere along the way, George had lost his glasses and Dream’s mask had been sent flying. He thinks George may have picked it up at some point.</p>
<p>Emerald green eyes meet deep expanses of brown.</p>
<p>There’s a smile, growing, growing growinggrowing–</p>
<p>Warmth sets Dream’s core alight.</p>
<p>He takes a step towards the only important thing his life has ever known.</p>
<p>George is running towards him with a grin. Dream thinks he can see glee turning to concern.</p>
<p>The warmth blooms and blossoms and <i>explodes</i> into a raging inferno, burning his head and arms and legs and lungs and then–</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>He woke from a coma three weeks after, in an infirmary in the grand city of Susea, capital of the Kingdom of Traedor. George was asleep at his bedside.</p>
<p>His companion woke up and started crying. Dream was crying too, under the beloved mask that George saved for him.</p>
<p>After Dream got out of the hospital, one of King Techno’s aides asked them where they wanted to stay. When they sat down and started deciding together, they missed the odd look the aide sent them.</p>
<p>“Sirs, I’m not sure you understand- King Techno is allowing you both your own choice of lodging, anywhere within the city. He’s offered to have mansions built for you both. You need not share–”</p>
<p>George sent him a look, one that said it all.</p>
<p>Two months later and they’re settling into a pristine, grandiose stone and quartz mansion situated on a hill, sharing a gorgeous view of the city.</p>
<p>They’re revered as heroes.</p>
<p>Saviors of the entire world.</p>
<p>They don’t have jobs, they don’t have responsibilities; they’re given free range to live as kings and waste their days away in pleasure unimaginable.</p>
<p>And at first? Dream is happy.</p>
<p>He’s over-joyed.</p>
<p>They did it, they’re both alive and healthy; they’re together. Their own little happily ever after.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even still, sometimes, laying in his lush bed, in his spacious room, safe inside the city walls, he misses cool autumn sunsets lighting the earth and sky on fire in a haze of auburn hues. He misses huddling around a campfire, hidden away in the entrance of a cave, hearing George’s soft, huffing breaths while he took first watch shift of the night. He misses being close and occupied and having a purpose– sharing that purpose.</p>
<p>They see each other every day. They eat together, sometimes even cook together, spend hours simply in each other's company, and really do most things together.</p>
<p>Yet somehow Dream misses George like he’s lost half of his soul when they’re apart. Even when it’s only a few walls between them, he misses George. There’s a constant anxiety, when he can’t see his friend, that seeps through his skin and makes him feel sick.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream has trained himself to operate on three hour nights, and after years of life or death necessity, well. It’s a habit not easily broken. Many late nights become early mornings. Some nights, often spent sitting with his best friend in odd places around the mansion, would seem to point to the fact that George couldn’t break this particular habit either. Yet there are many nights when George falls asleep early, like he used to, and wakes up early. Dream can never manage that. He tries to sleep too, and ends up staring at his gilded ceiling with not a soul except his thoughts for company.</p>
<p>On this particular sleepless night, Dream flits between their copious rooms in hopes of making his mind shut off. He sips a glass of water in the little kitchen they like to share breakfast in, sprawls this way and that across their couch in the ornate living room they’d let become cluttered, even slips silently into the armory and training room, one of the most used rooms of the grand mansion.</p>
<p>When he gets there, he stops and gives up on sleeping easily. He pulls a blunt stone axe off of the wall and swings it at the air and it’s oddly shaky. It helps nothing. The room feels empty without George. It’s all too big, and there’s too much of the room he can’t see– can’t reach; he feels like a mob will sneak up behind him and he won’t be able to see it until it’s too late.</p>
<p>On nights like these, he gets a pulling sort of anxiety in the pit of his stomach– heavy chunks of obsidian filling his gut like he’s choking, like he can’t <i>breathe</i>– because maybe he’ll walk up the quartz stairs and find out that the room that George lovingly turned into his own is actually empty. He’s terrified the sun will rise and he’ll learn that George never made it out of the nether, or the end, or even the hospital afterwards- </p>
<p>His breathing picks up and picks up in the way that he <i>knows</i> he’s wheezing slightly, and every unfulfilling breath makes his vision fuzzier around the edges. Dream sinks down to the floor and hugs the axe tight to his chest. He’s distantly aware that the edges are pressing into his skin hard enough to cause damage, but he can’t seem to grasp the thought enough to process it.</p>
<p>After that, he doesn't remember much else.</p>
<p>There’s something to be said about the grace with which George handles finding him like that. Dream wakes up to soft, incessant shaking on his shoulder and blinks his eyes open to see George, luminous eyes soft and worried and like a healing balm on his raw soul. Then he takes in the training room and the familiar pain that comes from sleeping on hard ground and feels a little less content.</p>
<p>There is something to be said about the grace with which George handles it, because if Dream found George curled up somewhere odd, arms covered in a long cut and bruises from clutching an axe too tightly to his chest, eyes red and puffy from long hours crying, he’s fairly certain he would have a panic attack.</p>
<p>Yet, George shakes him awake, just a little too insistently, just a little too shakily, and helps him off the ground.</p>
<p>They don’t talk about it, but they also don’t leave each other’s sights for the entire day. Every night for the next week at least is spent late in their kitchen, together, like one moment apart will erase the fact that they both survived and won.</p>
<p>Anyway, Dream learns that when George is asleep, slipping off to another part of their too-big mansion in hopes of getting rid of the terror that simmers just under his skin most nights doesn’t work at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The nether boils around Dream and George like they’re sat upon the surface of the sun, infinite fires spread in patches as far as the eye can see, the pop and sizzle of the lava lakes the only music they can hear. Sweat drip-drip-drips it’s way down his neck, his shoulders, his back, right down to his waist. Line after line is traced in the grime on his skin- he thinks it’s ash- and he shudders. He looks at George, stood by his side, and sends him a weak smile.</p>
<p> “I think we’re almost back, this– this place looks familiar,” He says with a confidence that he doesn’t at all feel.</p>
<p>They keep walking, and they’re in a red forest. Finally, he sees it– the glittering, black stone and the mesmerizing dance of purple inside. He turns to his partner.</p>
<p>“George, lo-”</p>
<p>George isn’t there.</p>
<p>He turns around</p>
<p>George is twenty steps behind.</p>
<p>Pressed against a tree.</p>
<p>There’s a hoglin in front of him.</p>
<p>Charging.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream is running but suddenly it’s soul sand under his feet, and every step closer is a thousand feet added between them and no matter what he does he can’t– he won’t– make– it–</p>
<p>“DREAM!”</p>
<p>Red.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wakes up, sweat dripping down his forehead and pooling at the small of his back, panting. The increasingly familiar gold and white of his walls greets him through the ash grey moonlight.</p>
<p>His blankets are far too hot.</p>
<p>Dream pushes himself up onto his elbows, shaking, and kicks off his blankets haphazardly.</p>
<p>He feels lost.</p>
<p>When he blinks, all he can see on the backs of his eyelids is red– the red of the trees, the red of ground, the red of the ceilings and walls, the red of the lava the red of the pig–</p>
<p>The red of his blood.</p>
<p>But it’s not real.</p>
<p>It was just a dream.</p>
<p>A nightmare.</p>
<p>It wasn’t real.</p>
<p>Dream pushes himself up and slips out of his bed, his footsteps as silent as ever, even as he feels like he’s one shiver away from shattering apart.</p>
<p>Before he knows it, he’s standing outside of George’s door, hand on the knob.</p>
<p>But he can’t– He can’t be selfish like that. George needs his sleep too, just as desperately as Dream does.</p>
<p>So he rests his forehead against the door, and he listens.</p>
<p>It’s faint, but the soft sound of George’s breath greets him, and it’s not enough, but he can breathe, at least.</p>
<p>He still sees red when he blinks though.</p>
<p>First, Dream tries a glass of water, draining it in one fluid pull. Then he wanders, room to room to room to room, as if that’s ever helped in the past.</p>
<p>Once again, he finds himself in the armory.</p>
<p>The anxiety is cut by an undercurrent of adrenaline– Dream knows it well from his time hunting the dragon. It’s a feeling that left him sleepless then as well. Back then, he’d drift a bit away from camp, never out of sight, but out of the light of their dying campfire, and he’d wait for the creatures of the night to attack.</p>
<p>Always far enough to keep George safe from the mobs he attracted, but close enough to keep his eye on the other.</p>
<p>He never went too far, not after <i>that</i> night.</p>
<p>Yet here in the city, George is safe.</p>
<p>Dream can leave, go out of sight, and George will still be safely within the city walls, away from any stray skeletons or errant zombies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he slips on his armor, the weight of the iron plates wraps him in a painful, heavy, warm nostalgia– there’s comfort in the way the metal pulls his shoulders down and digs into his skin when he moves. He grabs a shield– new and ornate, provided by King Techno in a grand gesture, yet it’s still fully functional– and the diamond axe. <i>His</i> diamond axe, the one that killed the dragon. He tosses some water and bread into his pack before leaving. </p>
<p>There are no monsters within city walls; it’s a matter of great pride for Susea, actually. On almost every level of his conscious thought, Dream is thankful for it too- no one should have to fear their door giving way in the night to a horde of zombies and he’s glad that they don’t have to fear the nights anymore.</p>
<p>And yet.</p>
<p>There’s a very deeply ingrained, hidden part of him that misses the satisfying rattle of bones shattering apart, the crack of hard chitin as his axe goes through a spider’s abdomen, and the dull thud from splitting a zombie’s disgusting skull in two. Honestly, Dream doesn’t harbor much animosity towards the common creatures of the night- they haven’t caused him actual trouble in a long while, not unless he’s surrounded by masses of them. They’re just so easy to kill. It feels more like therapy.</p>
<p>That’s how he finds himself at the great walls of Susea, flashing a charming, well known smile at the city guards from just under the edge of his mask. They easily open the access door for him to slip away the city and into the fields and forests that surround it. He makes his way out, and almost immediately, he catches sight of a spider in the distance.</p>
<p>The thing is, Dream, he didn’t come out here to play.</p>
<p>There’s something squirming, <i>writhing</i> in his chest, like weeping vines bursting from his lungs. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch or a burn he can’t soothe. Anxiety and sadness masked in the familiar ache of desperation.</p>
<p>The moon sits impassive in the sky, somewhere just short of half full, and shines a grey light over the earth. It hangs separated, removed from the plights of their world. The stars bring no joy to him anymore. They betrayed him, long ago. He was truly a fool for thinking that they cared for him in any way.</p>
<p>A sweeping glance across the field shows that everything is grey. Everything except the tangle of emotion coiled, growling and wailing, red hot and icy blue and bruising purple in his lungs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream is going to do something dumb. He knows it’s dumb. Of course he does. He’s not <i>stupid</i>.</p>
<p>But he’s going to do it anyways.</p>
<p>Because–</p>
<p>Because maybe the waves of new adrenaline will come like the tide and take out the residual energy stuck festering in his chest.</p>
<p>Because maybe he’ll finally feel tired again and be able to get some rest, knowing he’s helped a bit.</p>
<p>Because maybe it will scratch that itch, soothe that burn.</p>
<p>Because <i>maybe, he just fucking wants to.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream slinks out into the field. The only light for what feels like miles are the terrible, apathetic stars. Somewhere near 100 yards away from the wall, surrounded by unaware mobs, Dream starts to run. Every step he takes purposefully slaps his feet against the ground, crunching through the grass to gather the attention of as many mobs as he can.</p>
<p>Dream runs, excess energy boiling under his skin like fire, the cut of wind against his face a soothing burn against his cheeks, all pairing neatly with the pain in his muscles from carrying the heavy armor on his back.</p>
<p>It burns, so, so wonderfully.</p>
<p>He runs towards mobs before cutting away, amassing an entire horde on his tail. In the distance, the field shifts to a yellow savannah, and just past that, a cliff face.</p>
<p>An arrow whizzes past his head and he feels air rustle his hair.</p>
<p>He laughs– wheezing, manic.</p>
<p>He kind of feels like crying.</p>
<p>When Dream finally hits the cliff, a dead end, a wall at his back, he turns with the wind, movements graceful and fluid in the night air. He’s well and truly surrounded, no way out except through the monsters in front of him. Adrenaline sings through his blood and every breath of cool night air feels like power, like freedom.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A picture is painted, in that moment.</p>
<p>Somewhere, distant, just a haze on the horizon, sit the city walls, grey brick looming against a black sky. In the forefront, the silhouettes of beasts claw forwards, towards the light of a smoldering, bubbling lava pool.</p>
<p>The blazing orange light from the lava pool hallows a hero, highlighting every fierce, deadly strike, reflecting them in the waltz of the shadows. Even the sheer, undulating mass of night horrors, dirty bones and rotting flesh and spindly legs and camouflaged skin, launching hit after hit after normally fatal hit keep missing, like the gods are redirecting every blow.</p>
<p>Dream is a godless man– the only god he knows is himself.</p>
<p>Dream is the only god he’s learned he can rely on.</p>
<p>A picture is painted, and in that moment, the divine artist dips the brush in red.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Golden edged pain laces it’s way through Dream’s side, just below the edge of his armor. A little grunt rips from his chest, but other than that, he pays it no mind. The pain is washed away in the high of the fight, and he rips his axe through the disgusting throat of a zombie before spinning and kicking the skull directly from a skeleton that gets too close. In the next moment, he brings his shield up to block a hit from another zombie, then shoves the offending creature back into a creeper. The thing explodes, and the force kills all of the monsters directly around it, sending some bones and corpses and… bits… flying through the air and at him. He covers himself with the shield, yet he still stumbles back a bit from the force</p>
<p>
  <i>Finally- a fight worth his salt.</i>
</p>
<p>Dream’s missed this, in a weird, convoluted way. He doesn’t want to think about it.</p>
<p>He should be happy, finally getting peace.</p>
<p>Yet he feels so <i>listless</i>.</p>
<p>A zombie knocks into him and knocks him out of his head.</p>
<p>All he can think of now is his axe, sitting comfortably in his hand, and the beasts surrounding him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Within the span of five minutes-</p>
<p>Five breathless, exhilarating, terribly painful, wonderfully good minutes-</p>
<p>Dream has killed all of them.</p>
<p>The ground is covered in mob dust and random remains, bone and silk and chunks of zombie flesh. The higher mounds of dirt and sand cast reaching, creeping shadows across the ground, the orange glow of the lava warming what land it can reach.</p>
<p>Dream basks in it.</p>
<p>As the moon starts to set, it pulls with it the comforting tide of adrenaline, and the warm glow of the lava lights all of his wounds and imperfections in its warm, forgiving glow. His legs and arms start to ache, his side and chest burn, and he’s left leaning against the rough stone cliff, questioning his own sanity, physical and mental pain slowly creeping in.</p>
<p>Dream basks in that, too.</p>
<p>Exhaustion sets in. It occurs to him then that he ran quite a ways from the wall. It was going to be a trek back unless he wanted to risk running and attracting another horde. </p>
<p>It’s okay though, because the nothing of early morning matches the numb fuzz that his exhaustion brings, and it beats back all of his thoughts, all of his pain.</p>
<p>Dream starts walking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he finally gets back the guards shoot him little confused stares as he slips by. The cold light of dawn has begun creeping into his soul as he drags himself into the mansion on silent feet. He replaces the armor and weapon after lightly cleaning them off, and slinks into the bathroom connected to his room. He washes his face and bandages his wounds- all hidden, thank god- and passes out in his bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blissful, uninterrupted sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George is none the wiser, although Dream is sure that his sleeping in past sunrise surprises the other. When he sees the older the following noon, he just looks glad the younger got some sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Midnight mob hunts soon become routine on his sleepless nights.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream has never been lucky once in his life, though.</p>
<p>It was only a matter of time before an errant hit was just too close to something important.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Goodnight Dream,” George says softly, exhaustion dripping from his tongue like honey. After the day they’d had, he doesn’t blame the older. Even still, Dream isn’t tired- although, 7 months of taking the first watch of the night may have contributed. That day they went out mining, looking for anything they could find. They stumbled across an abandoned mine, neat, dusty corridor after neat, dusty corridor, and they found a good number of abandoned chests around, some with iron, gold, or even a diamond. Sure, the mobs down there were annoying, and every minute or so one of them would have to stop what they were doing to kill a random zombie or spider, but it was worth it for the stuff they were getting. </p>
<p>Until the wooden boards under their feet gave way like brittle bones, and they were falling.</p>
<p>Luckily, despite the distance they fell, something soft broke their landing.</p>
<p>Unluckily, it was thick, sticky cobwebs.</p>
<p>Full of spiders.</p>
<p>They got out with all of their stuff and their lives, but George had been bitten on his wrist and it was a rush to climb out and rinse the wound and keep George safe.</p>
<p>Dream isn’t tired.</p>
<p>Dream is not even close to tired. No, he is stressed, and anxious, and angry- at those boards for giving out, at their luck for putting them there, and at himself, for not protecting his travel companion, for putting him at constant risk by letting him follow the blond.</p>
<p>As soon as he hears the soft, even breaths of the other deepen, he stands. His legs are steady, unlike his shaky breaths, and he picks up his axe. It’s new, a sturdy iron that’s weighted so different from his old stone axe that at first, Dream almost didn’t want to use it. He’s almost used to it now though, and it makes him even more deadly. Every little thing he can do to make himself stronger is something he will do, even if it risks himself.</p>
<p>On restless, anxious, angry nights like these, Dream’s taken to patrolling their campsite and the surrounding area in search of monsters to kill. Sometimes he goes far, other times he doesn’t have to do much more than leave the light of their fire.</p>
<p>Dream isn’t sure if he’s thankful or annoyed that there aren’t any mobs around. The golden sun’s made way for the silver moon and pinpricks of crystalline lights cast the earth in an ethereal glow. If mobs were going to make their way through this part of the land, they would have by now.</p>
<p>
  <i>At least George will easily be safe.</i>
</p>
<p>He slips on his chest plate, a matching yet far more worn iron, and he sets off towards the woods he sees in the distance, woods he knows will be dangerous.</p>
<p>They’re dark and consuming, and the second he steps in, the leaves choke out any remaining hint of light and block every sliver of the sky he searches for. The dark wood stands thick on all sides of him, like sentries of the unknown. The rough bark presses in on all sides, trapping him, choking him. He can barely see.</p>
<p>His eyes do adjust eventually. That’s when he sees them.</p>
<p>Skeletons, spiders, and creepers. Everywhere.</p>
<p>Just as he’d hoped.</p>
<p>Dream raises his axe, and swings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George wakes up to a dying fire. That’s the first sign that something is odd- for the entire seven months they’ve been traveling together, Dream’s always insisted on keeping the fire lit all night. He says it wards off mobs. The second is that Dream’s chest plate is gone.</p>
<p>The adventurer himself being absent wasn’t too odd; many nights George will wake and see him walking around slowly in the distance, going from zombie to spider to creeper, endlessly poised, totally beautiful, graced in the perfect light of the night as he spins and swings to kill. Watching Dream fight is like watching a dance, and on the nights that George feels selfish, he finds himself taking time to just watch, to think about how lucky he is that this whirlwind of a man allowed George to accompany him. </p>
<p>The thing was, Dream didn’t really take his chest plate on nights like that. He was a smart, talented, deadly force and he knew what he could take down and what he couldn’t. He didn’t take on things that require <i>armor</i> in the middle of the night.</p>
<p>George moves to push himself upright when pain shoots through his left arm, and the memory of yesterday’s bite rushed to the forefront of his head. Thankfully, it wasn’t the sour ache of festering poison and infection, just the sting of ripped flesh trying desperately to heal. Carefully, he tries again, balancing most of his weight on his right arm. When he’s sat up, he scans his surroundings.</p>
<p>It’s still dark, the stars still singing their chorus of stories against the backdrop of the void, yet not a mob crawls in sight. The night is silent. No zombies, no skeletons, no creepers, no spiders, and worst of all, no Dream.</p>
<p>George is logical, really- he always has been and he fancies that he always will be. He is logical and so there is absolutely no reason his breathing should be hitching in the way that it is. There is no reason that his brain should be jumping to the conclusions it is.</p>
<p>And yet, here he is.</p>
<p>His first thought is that something came in the night, like a few too many endermen or -god forbid- a couple of phantoms that Dream decided he should fight them on his own and got himself in over his head.</p>
<p>But Dream is smart and Dream is deadly, and George has kind of learned that you can’t overestimate the masked man- not when he’s so god damned good at everything he’s ever tried.</p>
<p>No, Dream didn’t get in over his head.</p>
<p>Dream made decisions and moved forwards and he would cut off his own hand if it made it more likely that he’d be able to save the world. He’s selfless like that. He’d do anything to kill The Dragon.</p>
<p>Dream is selfish like that.</p>
<p>Now, George is logical, so the more facts that he cycles through in his head, the more logical it seems for Dream to have up and left, taken his bare necessities and left George with everything else so he could easily re-enter the world- that he finally realized that George is dead weight and that he’s faster on his own, looking out for himself and only himself.</p>
<p>George is logical, and he doesn’t want to believe it, but every little reason his head comes up with to explain why he’s wrong is just his heart crying out in pain.</p>
<p>How did George, logical, <i>reasonable</i> George get so attached to a death mission, to a man whose face he’s never even seen before?</p>
<p>If he’s being honest with himself, it was probably his laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream isn’t lost. No, he can track the path of monster remains out, but it’s a winding path, he knows, and it isn’t exactly easy to follow.</p>
<p>And it’s dark.</p>
<p>The lack of the ever shifting light of the night sky disoriented him and he lost track of time and now he-</p>
<p>He isn’t lost.</p>
<p>But he’s been walking in this direction for what feels like just slightly too long, and just. He’s a little anxious, a little tired, he knows George will be waking up soon, and-</p>
<p>He keeps walking.</p>
<p>And walking.</p>
<p>Until-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Light.</p>
<p>Faint pinpricks of light, tiny and far ahead, but there.</p>
<p>Dream starts running, tired body be damned.</p>
<p>When he finally breaks through the treeline the bright moonlight assaults his corneas, and he takes a deep breath of the open air.</p>
<p>Then he looks around.</p>
<p>He came out left of where he entered. Turning, he sets off at a brisk walk.</p>
<p>When the campsite comes into view, he feels a smile grow on his face. It’s just a spot of light on the horizon, but that’s only a three or four minute walk, at the pace he’s giving. From the position of the moon he knows it’s past the end of his shift, and he’s eager to get back and see George. The slight ache of physical exhaustion cleanses his body, and he feels warm, knowing he gets to come back to George after it all.</p>
<p>As he gets closer however, the smile slips from his face. He can vaguely make out his companion sitting up, but small, like he’s trying to take up as little space as he can.</p>
<p>Dream speeds up.</p>
<p>He gets about ten yards away before he stops. George is crying.</p>
<p>He’s-</p>
<p>“George?”</p>
<p>The name is called, soft like dandelion seeds floating in a breeze. They’re worried, confused.</p>
<p>It’s oh so soft, and still George’s head snaps up like someone’s screamed, and it’s so terrible. His gorgeous, deep brown eyes are dry but red, numb on the surface but holding so much- so much <i>pain</i> under it all that Dream feels himself choke on it.</p>
<p>In an uncertain, shaky, scratching, hopeful voice, George calls a responding, “Dream?”</p>
<p>And without his permission his feet are carrying him close and his arms are wrapping around the shorter, cradling him tightly, fiercely, against his chest like he’s something precious.</p>
<p>Because he is something precious.</p>
<p>“Gogy,” he asks lightly, words muffled in the older’s dark hair, “What’s wrong.”</p>
<p>The other’s fists grip the edges of his amor tighter like he’ll disappear any minute and-</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Oh, gods, no.</p>
<p>“Oh <i>baby</i>, no,” He breaths, and the word slips out before he can stop it, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it, too concerned and guilty and upset on George’s behalf to care. “I’m here- I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” he coos, and internally curses himself. The last thing he’d ever do is leave George without his knowledge- he’s far too important to Dream, and Dream is far too selfish. He’d never- He couldn’t-</p>
<p>Abandon George?</p>
<p>He’d sooner die.</p>
<p>George’s face is tucked under his chin, and his soft shaky breaths warm Dream’s collar. When Dream pulls the other tighter, he breaks. Short sobs burst from his lungs and tears dampen his neck. He doesn’t want to let go but he knows that he has to get this heavy metal chest plate off, has to get George closer so maybe the terrible pain will stop.</p>
<p>“George, shh, baby, I need to take the armor off,” He says, gentle, shaky, as he slowly pulls the other away from his chest. George just nods mutely, wrapping his arms tightly around himself like maybe that will stop him from shaking apart.</p>
<p>The moment he’s free of the other’s grasp- <i>he misses it so much already</i>- he yanks the armor off as fast as he can. As soon as he’s free of it, he chucks it away and scrambles back over to his friend.</p>
<p>“Dream, it’s ok-”</p>
<p>Dream cuts him off by pulling back into his chest. They fit together like puzzle pieces, like art crafted by the hands of the gods- meant to be together. Perfectly balanced.</p>
<p>“It’s not okay,” he starts, and his voice is shaky and his throat is tight but he pushes on, because this is important. “I- I’m the reason you’re crying, of course it’s not okay.”</p>
<p>He could feel George, once again nestled against his chest, this time with his arms wrapped around his waist, shift and open his mouth as if to speak but Dream cuts him off.</p>
<p>“You’ve gotta know- I have to let you know that I would never- never leave you,” He says, voice barely above a whisper as the moon dips below the horizon, leaving the world in the haze of dawn. “I don’t make decisions that I regret, and I don’t regret you.”</p>
<p>George’s arms grow tighter around him and he breathes deep in Dream’s neck.</p>
<p>After a few beats pass, George finally speaks.</p>
<p>“Where were you?” It’s soft and unsure, but far from upset, and Dream feels the clamp around his lungs loosen, just a bit.</p>
<p>Worrying his lip between his teeth, he sets his head more fully atop George’s. “I was out monster hunting,” he settles on simply. Both of their voices are quiet in that sacred space between night and morning, light and dark, where everything is colored a subtle lavender, and their breaths mix with the gentle morning breeze. “There was nothing in the fields, so I went into the forest,” He lets a small laugh slip at his own stupidity, “I kind of got lost, because it was so dark.” At George’s silence, he tilts his face down to rest lightly against the other’s hair. The mask sits heavily between them, and for the first time in as long as he remembers, he considers taking it off. “I’m so, so sorry I left you here, darling.” As he speaks, barely a breath above the wind, his lips brush George’s hair, and he shivers.</p>
<p>Pulling back a bit, George looks up at the mask, and Dream almost hates it. He hates that this is who he is to George- a coward hiding behind a poorly drawn smile that masks his overly expressive eyes. </p>
<p>“Why do you do that? Go out to hunt at night and put yourself in unnecessary danger?”</p>
<p>Under the question Dream could hear what he really was saying. <i>I’m worried about you. Talk to me, please?</i></p>
<p>Dream turns away from the other but stays close, shoulders and thighs pressed together, and he leans into the contact. “Sometimes, George, I feel like I have this coil of emotion in my chest, and it feels like if I don’t get rid of it then I’ll choke on it. So I chase exhaustion instead. Killing evil things is simple. You can’t think too hard or else you’ll fail, and you can’t be distracted or you’ll get hurt. You have to put all of your focus into doing this simple task, and when you’re finally done and the adrenaline of the fight seeps out, you’re left with this warm ache in all of your bones and all you can think about is putting one step in front of the other,” Dream explains as the sun rises gently above the gentle hills that stretch ahead of them, “It’s real and it’s right there, and when I get back I can lay down and just sleep without a second thought. The coil is gone and I can breathe again.”</p>
<p>George nods, and the sun is setting him alight in golds and oranges and reds, and he’s beautiful. “I think I understand that.” He looks over at Dream, catches him staring, and smiles. It’s beautiful. “I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth,” He looks back out to the rising sun, “I should trust you more too.”</p>
<p>The breath catches in Dream’s chest.</p>
<p>In this quiet moment, he could do it. Reach up and unclasp the mask and let George fully understand just how much he means to the adventurer.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t.</p>
<p>Instead, he pulls the other into a tight hug, and takes a shaky lungful of air in. “Just remember that wherever I go, no matter what, there will always be a place for you by my side.”</p>
<p>He can hear a soft gasp from within his arms, and George tightens the hug, shifting his head further into Dreams space. His temple brushes Dream’s lips and he places a gentle kiss right below soft brown hair. A promise</p>
<p>They would be okay.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream forces himself to stand upright and flash the same charming smile to the guards that he always does as he reenters the city. Every step sends a jolt of pain through his thigh, where the arrow is lodged. After he was shot, he broke as much of the shaft off as he safely could, and he now carefully covers the wound as he makes his way back to the mansion, twilight turning to sunrise. For the first time he curses the high, picturesque mountain their home sits on. Dream grits his teeth when he can feel the arrow shifting inside his leg, against his muscle with each step up. He ignores it.</p>
<p>The biggest problem here is how he’s supposed to explain this to George. He knows the other will help him get the arrow out and clean the wound, but he’s been so good at hiding it from George.</p>
<p>When did he start hiding things from George?</p>
<p>He’s not quite sure.</p>
<p>It leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he finally makes it inside, he can make out George rustling in the kitchen. Slowly, he pulls off his chest plate and sets it and his axe down with a bit of a clatter. He hears George pause and go completely silent.</p>
<p>Better to get this over with.</p>
<p>“It’s just me George,” He calls, and <i>he</i> thinks he hides the pain in his voice well, but the way George practically sprints to the entry hall says otherwise.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, Dream, what happened?”</p>
<p>It hits him then, what a sight he must make. His old green jacket is covered in dirt, his black shirt and pants are covered in the grey ash of dead monsters, his mask is pushed haphazardly back into his messy, sweaty hair, pushing his hood partly off his head, he’s pretty sure the arrow is still visible and sticking out of his thigh, and he thinks he’s slipping down the wall.</p>
<p>“Hi George- I’ll- I’ll explain in a bit but maybe a little help first would be good?”</p>
<p>They end up in their first floor washroom, and the familiar situation is oddly comforting, even with the pain from George removing the arrow and washing the bloody wound in a bath of alcohol. He doesn’t know when he started thinking of their routines during The Hunt as comforting, but somehow, they are.</p>
<p>It seems Dream doesn’t know much of anything these days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fresh stitches and a bottle of a disgusting yet familiar healing potion later, and they’re sitting on the soft couch in their living room, one at either end and the space between them is an ocean.</p>
<p>Dream hangs his head. He always does this. He’s always so selfish- he goes off and forgets that doing things like this hurts others, hurts <i>George</i>, and he hates himself for it.</p>
<p>What’s so wrong with him that he can’t just go to sleep when he needs to? That he can’t just ask for help from his best friend?</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” He says flatly into the silence.</p>
<p>“Dream-” George starts, then stops. “What- what’s wrong? Why are you hunting again?” He sounds so worried and confused and almost pained and Dream just wants to be okay for him. This was supposed to be their happy ending. They were supposed to kill the dragon together and live happily ever after together and instead here they are, three feet apart and 1,000 miles in too deep.</p>
<p>Maybe if Dream tries harder he’ll be okay.</p>
<p>Maybe that’s the problem.</p>
<p>Whatever he can do to make George happy, he’ll do. And if that’s being okay, he’ll do it.</p>
<p>Dream forces a smile and pushes forward. “I’m okay, I think. I guess I’m just falling back on old habits.” He looks back down at the floor, polished diorite with gold accents, and wishes for wood. Something warmer, less impersonal. But that’s ridiculous. This is what they’ve earned. This glory is theirs.</p>
<p>“Please, Dream,” George calls, and Dream knows he’s asking for honesty, he knows he’s asking for Dream to admit that he’s being an idiot but.</p>
<p>Dream-</p>
<p>Dream is fine.</p>
<p>He’s fucking fine because this is their happy ending, and he’s <i>happy</i> about it.</p>
<p>“Please don’t worry about me. I’m okay, I swear.”</p>
<p>Maybe if he says it enough, believe it enough, it’ll be true.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s about three months later when King Techno shows up on their doorstep.</p>
<p>In those three months, Dream stopped going outside of the city walls- instead he spends sleepless nights pressed in his beds, awake and unhappy. On nights he wakes up from nightmares he pulls himself outside and onto their roof and sits under the unforgiving sky. On one memorable night it’s storming when he slips out, and the water drenches him and chills him to his bones and he feels clean, like the gods took a moment of their time to wash away his sins.</p>
<p>His absolute avalanche of sins.</p>
<p>Dream gets sick the following day, and he thinks George knew it was because he was out in the storm, but it’s okay.</p>
<p>They’re both alive, and they have their happy ending.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The thing about staying put on his sleepless nights is that he has hours of quality time with just his thoughts.</p>
<p>And he thinks he might know why he’s not happy.</p>
<p>Here’s his theory.</p>
<p>During what they’ve lovingly dubbed The Hunt, Dream dedicated himself to a purpose. He chased ceaselessly after one goal and one goal only, killing The Dragon. Nothing else mattered.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t have a purpose now.</p>
<p>He’s left to fill his days with whatever he wants, and while that sounds like heaven after the life he’s lived, he’s not sure that he isn’t just a waste of the city’s resources just sitting around like this.</p>
<p>Dream needs to have a purpose.</p>
<p>But what does the savior of the world do after defeating the greatest threat to humanity?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s about three months later when King Techno shows up on their doorstep with a proposition.</p>
<p>“Gentlemen,” the king says in greeting, one they settle in. “I have a request.”</p>
<p>On autopilot, George dips into a low bow, one he was trained for since birth. “My Lord.”</p>
<p>Dream gives half a bow, almost just a nod. “Techno.”</p>
<p>George can barely hold in a laugh. He knows that during The Hunt, Dream wasn’t ever fond of authority. He spent most of that period of his life as a fugitive anyways, and no one’s law but his own was held over his head. It was as endearing as it was empowering, in George’s opinion. Dream shoots him a fond smile. </p>
<p>George watches as the edge of King Techno’s lips pinch, almost imperceptibly. So he’s not as okay with Dream’s blatant disrespect as he’s led them to believe. Interesting.</p>
<p>“As you may have heard, one of our provinces, L’Manburg, is revolting. They’ve been disobeying the orders of the crown for too long, and when we finally intervened they launched an attack against us.” The king paused for a moment, before continuing in his relaxing, monotone voice, “They’ve made an official declaration of independence and declaration of war.”</p>
<p>Dream didn’t pause. “You want us to fight.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t spoken reverentially, and it wasn’t an affirmation or agreement. </p>
<p>George felt ice take over his body.</p>
<p>And he watched as Techno’s jaw clenched, just the slightest bit more.</p>
<p>Sure, things aren’t perfect right now, but they’re done fighting, right? They’re done endangering their entire lives and everything they hold close, they’re done almost losing each other.</p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What does the savior of the world do after defeating the greatest threat to humanity?</p>
<p>Well, Dream supposes-</p>
<p>The hero joins a war.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Object Permanence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Where you go I'm going, so jump and I'm jumping, since there's no me without you.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay hi I'm back!! I'm here for the good time and the good time only, guys- <br/>Anyways take these flashbacks and this good time!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>”Once upon a time, there was a great, sprawling world, hidden away from ours. It was like ours, with mountains and forests and oceans and caves, but where our world had water, this world had fire. Rivers and oceans of pure fire. It was uninhabitable, terrible. The clouds rained fire, the skies were black, and the ground bled under your feet. Every breath there felt like breathing in sulfur. It’s called the Nether. There, in ruined palaces and destroyed homes, lives an empire of evil monsters. They spend their days planning, plotting to come and steal our world away from us, and if they can’t take that, they plan on taking our children. They like little evil boys and girls, because they’re the tastiest to the evil monsters. They can make portals anywhere there is darkness and fire. If you don’t eat your broccoli, Dream, they’ll make a portal in the furnace and come out to take you away.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Oh stop that Richard, you’ll scare the boy. Dream, don’t listen to Uncle Richard, honey, the Nether doesn’t exist. It’s just a <b>fairytale</b>.”</i>
</p>
<p>~*~ </p>
<p>They spend months traveling village to village, searching. They’re saving sneaking into the great, ancient libraries of Susea until after they’ve exhausted all other options. The city library would be extremely difficult to get into, so if they can avoid it, they want to. Anyways, if the most well known library in the known world has information on the Nether, it would be more widespread by now. As it is, mentions of the Nether are few and far between outside of scary stories.</p>
<p>From what the two adventurers have gathered thus far, they know that the first mention of the Nether was eons ago in a long forgotten religion, from what was probably pre-human times. It’s been twisted over time through years of oral storytelling and a lack of serious consideration.</p>
<p>They’re searching for some sort of book or hidden knowledge or even a scrap of a story. Ever since they learned they needed blaze rods to get to the End, they’ve been searching for any bit of information that could get them there.</p>
<p>“If it’s even real,” George says with a pout, sitting in the old, dusty library in the little town, just east of the coast. The floorboards are creaky, warped under their feet, the shelves towering over even Dream. On any flat surface there are plants, and creeping through the unprotected window, lush green vines frame a picture of farmlands and distant green hills. From the windows, golden afternoon rays are highlighted by dust flowing through the air like a river of time gone by. After so many books read, some crisp and new, others nearly crumbling in their feather light grasps, with no mention of anything useful or seemingly concrete, George is getting frustrated. Dream knows though, that this is the path they need to follow. There’s a pull in his gut and a simple, sure correctness in going to the Nether. It feels like the stars are gifting him the knowledge of the galaxy, pure and true and so, so important.</p>
<p>Dream gets ready to reassure him when an old voice, seemingly almost as ancient as the disintegrating leather bound book in his hands, speaks.</p>
<p>“What are you boys looking for?” the voice says, and they both snap up to see the source of the deep, croaking sound. A small, hunched man with a short, white, thick beard and no hair approaches on silent feet, deftly avoiding every creaky board. His brown shawl drapes over his shoulders like royal robes and his wrinkles frame wise, kind eyes.</p>
<p>“Oh, uhm, hello,” George says, startled. With the way that the floor had growled and groaned when George and Dream made their way over to the one table in the small building earlier that day, it was disconcerting for someone to glide over them like an apparition, soundless up until they spoke.</p>
<p>The man looks at them with eyes that seem to see every secret they hold in their hearts. It’s endlessly chilling.</p>
<p>“If you’re trying to find a <i>fairytale</i>, boys, I may be able to help,” He gives them a soft, mischievous smile, and sits down in a spare chair without making a noise. “I’ve dedicated my life to research and travel.”</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t make a habit of telling strangers about their quest. It tends to garner odd looks, mocking, and trouble. Yet something about this man, something about the way he holds universes in his eyes, makes Dream open his mouth.</p>
<p>“We’re looking for the Nether.”</p>
<p>George shoots him a surprised look, to which he sends a look of his own and a little nod. <i>Trust me,</i> it says, <i>I’m listening to the stars.</i> He nods back.</p>
<p>George’s eyes show trust and warmth and depth, and they’re beautiful.</p>
<p>The exchange is over in a breath, but the man’s eyes flit between them and glow, kind yet knowing. “The Nether, yes? The Nether is well known, hardly a fairytale,” he says, picking up a particularly old book from their stacks on the table and idly beginning to flip through it. His hands are spotted and thin, and gnarled, knotted bones can be seen moving under the papery, wrinkled skin as he lightly pages through the worn book. His actions seem reverential. “I always think people will ask after something more nebulous- the void, maybe the enchanting language, or even the endermen, although not many people know that there are questions to ask of them, I suppose,” He pauses as his eyes skim the pages, flipping quickly and skimming again. “Although, you two will, eventually.”</p>
<p>George sends him an alarmed look. Maybe Dream wasn’t right in trusting this man. Something about him feels off, just left of center really. “What-” George starts, uncertainty hidden beneath his skin, unseeable unless you know what to look for.</p>
<p>The man interrupts him. “Here!” He looks up brightly. “I’m sorry son, what were you about to say?”</p>
<p>George opens his mouth, then closes it. After a moment, he breathes, “Nothing, please. Go on.”</p>
<p>“What did you find?” Dream asks, careful to keep the hope out of his voice- out of his mind.</p>
<p>The man has a glint in his eyes and a smile as he says in his leathery voice, “You just have to know how to look for it.” He takes a deep breath.</p>
<p><i>”The fire caves were discovered by accident. Far before my time, large, obsidian door frames were used in the grand manor homes to signify wealth and status. One day, the lower class of a city rebelled and lit fire to the Manor in the night- only it spread and wiped the entire town. The fire burned through the houses and ate the doors to a dust that simply floated away in the hot air. The only remains were the frames. When days later the town’s people returned to the desolate ruins to salvage any belongings they could, they found that the insides of the obsidian frames had turned a shimmering ocean of purple and blue. The peasants crossed through, and found them- the fire caves. There was no sky, only weak burgundy stone and oceans of lava and odd, angry beasts. The peasants started a home there. They brought their pigs over, and they built. They had to routinely come back to the burned down ghost town for water, but everything else was provided there. They built an empire within the fire caves, and there they lived, safe and equal. Then one day far in the future, in my time, the portal went dark while some of us were out to get water. No record of how exactly they lit it was left in the overworld, and it took months of trial and error to once again open the portal. When we finally managed to re-open it, we were greeted only with bipedal pig-like creatures, and huge, angry, hogs. We never found them, and after years of searching we destroyed the portal and began erasing any trace of how to get to the fire caves to stop a tragedy like this from ever happening again. I only write this down in secret, because maybe one day someone will read this and understand and save my people. Save my family.”</i> The man looks up with a grin. “Is this what you were looking for, boys?”</p>
<p>George and Dream share stunned looks. A lot of it didn’t match, but a lot of stories about the nether completely contradicted each other. Even so, the seas of lava, the fire, the lack of water- it was honestly the only agreed upon thing in the Nether.</p>
<p>Months of searching, months of reading, and they find someone who knew exactly what they were looking for.</p>
<p>“Let me see that,” George says, reaching out for the book, which is easily relinquished. Dream leans into George's side to read the book with him.</p>
<p>It’s all there. The pages are worn thin and wispy around the edges. Creases and stains litter the manuscript. And there, in barely legible, flowing, dipping script are the words that the man before them just read. George and Dream look up almost simultaneously to see the man standing by the door.</p>
<p>They didn’t hear a sound.</p>
<p>For the first time they truly see the smile leave his face. The ancient man speaks, and his tone is tired and hopeful and so heavy it seems to hold a million histories within its raspy depths. “Are you going to, by any chance, try to save his family?” </p>
<p>A beat passes in which George looks at Dream, and Dream looks at George. He looks at the man, and opens his mouth.</p>
<p>“We,” George cuts in, looking at Dream as he says, “Will try. If we find any way to help while we’re in there we will help, but right now we are saving our families and our world, and that’s our first priority.”</p>
<p>Dream looks at George and smiles sadly. “He’s right. I wish- I wish I could, but-”</p>
<p>When he looks up, the man is gone.</p>
<p>A beat passes where he just looks at the empty door frame.</p>
<p>“Dream?”</p>
<p>“Yeah George?” He looks back to his friend to find him staring intently at the book in his hands.</p>
<p>When he looks down, the book is mostly closed with George’s finger bookmarking the page they’d been on. Facing them is a worn green cover sporting faded golden script, reading <i>The Nature Study of Plants</i>.</p>
<p>And when they open the page back up, the page the old man had shown them they <i>know</i>, a beautifully painted, faded diagram of a mushroom is all that stares back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After the strange encounter they leave relatively quickly. Day fades to night and they set up camp. It’s colder now and dead leaves crunch under their boots as they clear away a space for a fire. When they’re finally settled, George leans against Dream as the taller takes off his mask for a minute. It’s a rare occasion, but hidden as they are in the woods, Dream will take the breather. He knows how much George likes it when he takes off the mask too.</p>
<p>His actions earn him a tired, happy smile, and he affectionately bumps their heads together. </p>
<p>As the sun fully sets, George asks, “What do you think the deal with that old guy was today?”</p>
<p>Dream looks at his friend, then at the bits of the sky he can see through the almost bare branches.</p>
<p>“I think it wasn’t a coincidence that we ran into him,” He begins, trying to grasp what he’s feeling, what he felt earlier in the day. “There was something about him that didn’t feel quite human- his presence was, like,” he pauses and blows a stream of air through his lips. “I dunno, heavy.”</p>
<p>George looks at the little stars flickering into existence above them, burrowing further into his side as the temperature drops lower.</p>
<p>“D’you think the stars sent him,” George flicks his eyes back to Dream with a little smile, poking a bit at the younger’s superstition and belief system. Dream meets his eyes with a soft smile of his own, and he feels so warm.</p>
<p>The leaves on the ground rustle as a breeze wafts through the birch forest. Low on the horizon, through the maze of white trunks, the sky settles in a gentle orange. The trees stand tall against it, lined in a blaze of gold. Their campfire casts flickering shadows across George’s porcelain skin. He’s always been beautiful, Dream knows. Ever since he first met the other, he’s been more gorgeous than anyone he’s ever met.</p>
<p>Surrounding them are a myriad of beautiful flowers peeking through the burnt orange and red blanket that tucks the earth in before the yearly cold season, but they barely compare to the idol tucked against his side. Dream lays one hand flat against the soft moss-covered ground, letting the energy flow beneath his fingers.</p>
<p>“I think she’s finally going to go to sleep,” he says, at peace, and kisses George on the forehead.</p>
<p>George tucks his face farther into Dream’s neck. “The earth?” and the way he just knows Dream makes him warm, far warmer than even the fire could. Dream just nods, and George mutters a fond, “You’re so weird.”</p>
<p>A few moments pass, and Dream wonders if George has fallen asleep yet. His breaths are even but not quite so deep to be asleep. Just resting then.</p>
<p>Dream knows he loves George. It’s something so simple, so very true, that it’s just a fact. There was no big moment when he realized, he just- one day he was walking with his friend and the next it was someone he loved, more than anything.</p>
<p>The fire flickers again in front of them, and with the sun having slipped fully away, it was their only light. It makes the shadows of the twisting trees into reaching, crawling skeletons, but he’s with George, his light point, and it makes all of the danger worth it.</p>
<p>He thinks back over their day. They’ve finally found a lead, albeit a terribly weird one, to the Nether; they are one step closer to finding the End.</p>
<p>And yet-</p>
<p>The story the old man had told them terrified him, just a bit. About the people getting stuck in the Nether. What if something happens and he loses George in there? He knows it’s going to be dangerous. He’s already put George in so much danger.</p>
<p>And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? Even after everything he’s gone through, even after losing everyone he cares about eventually, he hasn’t learned. And worse, now that he has George, he’s too selfish to keep him safe by keeping him away from Dream.</p>
<p>“Your pulse is spiking,” George mumbles softly, “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>He feels so warm because of George, yet reality chills him through his skin and to his bones. How can he put this bright, beautiful person through hell for however long it takes Dream to get what they need? “I-” He begins, and his voice hitches as his brain is filled with images of everything that could go wrong in the Nether.</p>
<p>Dream can only think about all of the twisted horror stories of his childhood. The insufferable heat, the fire and lava everywhere. What happens, if they go in and get trapped for forever? Or they run out of water? Or they just can’t find what they need, and they get lost within a place so terrible it’s every little kid’s worst nightmare?</p>
<p>George sits up, and Dream immediately misses the warmth. Luckily he doesn’t go far, just back enough to look him in the eye. His beautiful brown eyes are filled with concern for Dream, and he’s been so <i>selfish</i>. He should never have pulled George away on this stupid, deadly quest. No one deserves this life- let alone beautiful, lovely, perfect George.</p>
<p>“Let me go to the Nether alone.”</p>
<p>A moment passes, and George’s face shutters. “Dream?” he asks tensely, “Where did that come from?”</p>
<p>He can’t bear to see the hurt in George’s eyes so he pins his eyes shut, tight enough to see stars, tight enough to feel tears prickling against his lids. “Please, George. The Nether is going-” He stumbles over his words and sucks in a deep breath, “It’s gonna be so dangerous George.” Dream feels a smooth, lightly calloused hand rest against his jaw, and he slowly reopens his eyes, a few tears running down his face. He can’t lose George. Not after everything.</p>
<p>“Dream, whatever’s wrong, it’s gonna be okay,” his voice is smooth, his accent lilting and comforting, and Dream pulls a deep breath in through his nose. He feels George gently swipe his thumb over Dream’s cheek before softly, oh so gently saying, “I’m right here.”</p>
<p>Dream grabs on to George like he’s his lifeline, and <i>whines</i>. He doesn’t know how the sound escapes his throat but it does and he can’t even care because the mere thought of losing George is sending him over the edge. “I,” his voice is shaking and his next breath hiccups, “I can’t lose you George,” he sucks in another desperate breath. “Not after everything. J-just wait for me and I’ll come out and if you haven’t moved on then we can keep going and- and we’ll get to the End- and you’ll be <i>safe</i>-”</p>
<p>A hand is running through his hair and George is rocking him slightly, letting a quiet, constant shushing noise leave his mouth. “It’s going to be okay, Dream, deep breaths.”</p>
<p>George is taking these big, steady breaths and Dream can feel them against his body and hear them gently and it helps. He matches them with a wavering rhythm and after a few minutes of breathing, he’s calmed down a bit. </p>
<p>“That’s it, Dream,” George praises softly, and Dream can’t help the way he sniffles. “Can you tell me what’s on your mind?”</p>
<p>He takes another deep breath and presses his lips lightly to George's shoulder. “I-” he starts and stops, trying to really grasp what sent him over the edge like that without falling right back over. “I’m so scared,” he finally settles on, and it’s so soft that the wind could have carried it away had she been there. “What if- what if we go into the Nether and we get separated and you get hurt? Or you get trapped by some accident, or I- I lose you somehow? Everywhere we’ve been, everything we’ve done, nothing we’ve been through has been anything like what we’re facing.” He sniffs weakly. “This is my burden to carry, my path to follow, George, and I’m not- I’m not sure if I could handle losing you, baby. Not after everything, not because I whisked you away on this suicide mission.” A beat. “Not after I just got you.”</p>
<p>George presses his cheek firmly against Dream’s temple as a soft gasp passes through his lips. “Dream…”</p>
<p>Without his permission, his mouth keeps moving. “I just- I’m so goddamn happy with you. Traveling with you has made everything so much easier, so much less-” he lets out a weak little laugh, “so much less lonely, and you’re so perfect. I feel so selfish, because I can’t tell you to leave, leave while you’re still alive and whole, because i-if you don’t and you- you die-” his breathing hiccups again and George starts absentmindedly running his hands through Dream’s hair again. It’s calming, and Dream takes a minute to breathe. “So I- I’m asking you to leave, so you’ll be alive and well at the end of this all. Please, George. Please.”</p>
<p>He feels a few deep, shaky breaths from George, before the older speaks. “Maybe I’m selfish too, Dream.” It’s soft and breathless, sad- real. Dream is so in love with this man. “I won’t leave. I’m sorry but I won’t. You’re far too important to me Dream. As long as there’s room for me, I’ll be by your side.” He takes another deep breath and gently tilts Dream’s chin up so their foreheads rest against each other. “If there-” he begins, sounding hesitant and uncertain. Dream’s damp eyes search George’s and he can barely stop himself from drowning in them. “If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s that life-” Another pause and a deep breath. Dream, on the other hand, sits with bated breath, unconsciously leaning closer to his friend. “Life isn’t worth living without you, Dream.” Their breath mingles in the small space between them. They’re so close that their noses brush. “And anyways,” A little smile slips onto the shorter’s face. “You’ll protect me.”</p>
<p>And his eyes slip shut.</p>
<p>And their lips meet. Softly, so softly.</p>
<p>Dream feels warmth, stronger this time, burning warmth, rolling out from every point of contact between them, and he loves it. Even being far from the first time the two have kissed, it still feels like everything wrong in the world is clicking into place, like a puzzle finally coming together to reveal an entire picture, like one soul, torn apart into pieces, lost and afraid in an ocean of pitch black, finding its other half and exploding into light and color and <i>warmth</i>. Dream feels electricity dancing across his skin and the blood in his veins and everything is George. All of him is George’s.</p>
<p>After a breath, a raindrop in time, just a moment that felt like an entire lifetime, they pull apart and their happiness is warm. They may be miles deep in a forest, untethered from anywhere of substance, but they are home in each other’s arms.</p>
<p>“I’ll keep you safe George. No matter what. I’ll keep you safe.”</p>
<p>
  <i>I love you. No matter what, I’ll always love you.</i>
</p>
<p>“I know you will, Dream.”</p>
<p>
  <i>I know, Dream. I love you too. Always.</i>
</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>The eye, slimy yet smooth and glittering in the dusk light, floats airily into the cave entrance. The two adventurers look at each other. Is this it? Are they finally here? They walk under the craggy overhang and Dream picks up the eye again. In the dark, the pupil dilates and it's truly horrific. He lightly tosses the eye back into the air, and it floats further into the gaping, rocky mouth of the cave.</p>
<p>This is it.</p>
<p>They’ve found the stronghold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reasonably, they know they should sleep, yet they’re silent as they slowly descend, and the unspoken agreement hangs between them. They have to see for themselves.</p>
<p>They keep walking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The entrance is far from grand. Tucked away at the end of a narrow offshoot of the cave system they trekked through is strong, carved stone, worn down by centuries of age, framing a rusty, heavy door. Faintly, covering the surface around it are faded runes in what looks like enchanting language. It’s eerie. The air is thick and damp- ancient- and dust intertwines with their every breath. Their only light is the flickering torch in Dream’s hand. The fire casts shadows across Dream’s beautiful face and the rust stained rock that surrounds them.</p>
<p>A look passes between them.</p>
<p>They set up their camp in an alcove a short ways away from the untouched entrance. When finally Dream’s shaking hands can light their fire, and George’s shaking hands can lay out their bed rolls, and Dream’s shaking hands can count their months worth of rations, and George’s shaking hands can count their year’s worth of weapons, they quiet.</p>
<p>When finally, there is nothing between them and the stronghold other than one night of sleep, they quiet.</p>
<p>Years of their lives spent looking, searching, chasing, and they’re here, less than a day away from the End.</p>
<p>George pushes impossibly closer into Dream’s shaking form. It’s worse than his shaking, far, far worse. He wraps one of Dream’s hands in his, and they shake shake shake, so he kisses the soft skin.</p>
<p>Dream shakes harder.</p>
<p>“We’re going to be okay, love,” George says softly, slipping into Dream’s lap. Dream is silent, just shaking and shaking and shaking.</p>
<p>George’s knees bracket Dream’s hips and their foreheads rest against each other. They’ve been here so many times before, in so many different situations. Dream’s hand grips his shirt, shaking, and George’s hands gently hold his clenched jaw.</p>
<p>The firelight does it’s best to warm the space, but the dark, empty corridors around them, the cold stone under them- well, a flame can only do so much.</p>
<p>After years of travel together, George can read Dream. Maybe it’s because Dream trusts him enough to be open with him. Open, always. Together, no matter what. They are two lost, broken souls, and together, weaved into one, they look almost whole.</p>
<p>Maybe that’s why George just <i>knows</i>. George knows that Dream wants to ask him to leave. Dream wants to ‘protect’ George and go into the End alone, he wants to so badly, but he doesn’t want to be alone. He thinks he’s selfish. Maybe he is. George doesn’t care. Selfish or not, Dream is just Dream, and Dream is <i>his</i>.</p>
<p>“Dream, love, I won’t leave.” Dream starts shaking harder, and he lets out a little keening whine. “I won’t leave. I’m not going anywhere.”</p>
<p>The first tear slips down Dream’s cheek and rolls against George’s thumb.</p>
<p>The second hits Dream’s wrist after rolling down George’s cheek.</p>
<p>The whining noise stops as Dream struggles for a breath, lungs wheezing as if the simple act was enough to kill him.</p>
<p>It could never even come close.</p>
<p>Dream’s indestructible. Years of improbable survival has proven it.</p>
<p>With shaky words that match Dream’s shaking soul, George continues, “I’m not leaving. We’re going t- to go into the End together, and we’re going to live. We’re going to keep each other safe. You’re going to keep me safe, like you promised-” Dream <i>sobs</i> and it shatters George’s heart but he keeps going. “But- but I’m going to keep,” His words are interrupted by a hiccuping cry leaving his throat. He keeps talking. “I’m going to keep you safe, love. That’s what I do.” Dream is struggling for air but it seems a little easier.</p>
<p>George keeps talking through the waterfalls leaving their eyes.</p>
<p>“Do you- d’you remember, when we’d been in the Nether for about a week, and- and you tripped into some lava? And I almost started h-hyper- hy- hypervent- hyperventilating,” another hiccuping sob, “and you calmed me down even though your- your leg was practically on f-fire? And w-when I finally calmed down I made th-the burn salve, and stopped the pain s-so we could keep going? And a few weeks later y-you didn’t know it w-was infected because you were trying t- to be strong? S-so I made you stop for a f-few days, and helped clean it? So it healed?” Dream nods a bit, and George barely realizes he’s been running his hands through Dream’s hair and along his cheeks over and over. It felt easier to breathe. It helped. “Then there was that time when you thought we’d killed all of the- the raid party, but one of the pillagers got up while we were celebrating and t-tried to kill you? And I shot it? Or the time,” He took a deep breath. Dream matched him. “The time that you didn’t see the hole in the ground, and I caught you?”</p>
<p>They’re both shaking, but the tears sit motionless against their cheeks and safely in their eyes, and they’re okay.</p>
<p>They’re okay because they have each other.</p>
<p>“If you went into the End alone, who would catch you when you slip?”</p>
<p>Dream finally opens his eyes, and no matter how deeply Dream blames the stars for the boy’s death, no matter how terribly he <i>hates</i> them, George still sees galaxies in the glossy green. Dream’s eyes hold entire universes, even filled with oceans of pain as they are, and George loves them.</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving you, Dream.”</p>
<p>A deep breath. Shaky still, but stronger.</p>
<p>“Thank you.” It’s soft, like his tired heart can’t muster more, but he continues, somehow. “Thank you for believing in me.” A breath. “Thank you for staying with me.”</p>
<p>A breath.</p>
<p>The world fades from around them. The whole world is asleep, and they’re here, floating in each other’s arms. The cold stone falls out from under them, the damp air clears. At this moment, it’s only them. The entire world fades away, but they have each other and it’s enough.</p>
<p>“I love you,” Dream calls.</p>
<p>“I love you too,” George replies.</p>
<p>Soon, they lay down to sleep together, held tightly in the other’s arms. It’s goodbye. It’s hello. It’s I miss you. It’s I love you. It’s shaky and it’s cold and it might be the last time they get this, but at this moment? It’s enough.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>When Dream wakes up in the hospital bed, the first thing he looks for, the first thing he feels, the first thing he sees is George. For all intents and purposes, it’s illogical. The heart, though, is rarely logical.</p>
<p>George is sitting in a chair next to his cot with his head resting on Dream’s leg, asleep. He looks hollow in the harsh light of the infirmary; it highlights his cheek bones and shadows his eye sockets and cheeks, emphasizing the dark bags under his eyes.</p>
<p>He doesn’t look too great.</p>
<p>The bandages crowing his head don’t help much either.</p>
<p>It’s then, a moment later, that he finally takes in his surroundings. Clearly, he’s in the Susea Medical Center, characterized by their excessive use of cold iron and sea lanterns, but the room he’s in is spacious and pristine, completely unlike the ones he’s seen on the rare occasions he needed professional care while in the city. The curtains are drawn but bright light is spilling in from the cracks.</p>
<p>It’s daytime in Susea, a place Dream likes to avoid. He’s stuck in a hospital bed, and George is injured.</p>
<p>He reaches back into his mind, grasping at the darkness to try and recall what happened.</p>
<p>They were traveling through miles of woods. They were climbing down a craggy cave system. They found the stronghold.</p>
<p>They found the end.</p>
<p>He feels George stir against his leg, and groggily, he calls, “Dream?”</p>
<p>They fought the Dragon.</p>
<p>They <i>killed</i> the Dragon.</p>
<p>“G-George?” And even though his voice comes out shaky, scratchy and painful from disuse, he sees George’s tired eyes light up beautifully, like the sun rising after a terrible night to illuminate the world in a wash of golden light and hope.</p>
<p>A wave of euphoria sweeps through him, and, ignoring the way his stiff body protests, he pulls George up. He must have caught him off guard, because somehow, his tired muscles manage to topple the other directly onto his chest. Dream ignores the pain, set on kissing the surprise and lingering exhaustion off of his face, because <i>they did it</i>.</p>
<p>Light illuminates his entire soul as George’s lips, chapped but pliant, meet his. A moment, brief but perfect, passes where George’s lips part against his, a light gasp sending sparks through Dream’s system and waking up every nerve ending- every inch of his skin is set alight with the sheer perfection of it.</p>
<p>One thing becomes clear to him in that single moment.</p>
<p>Dream is supposed to spend his life kissing George.</p>
<p>A hand on his chest brings Dream out of the moment. Gently yet firmly, George pushes him back, away from him, almost clinically. He feels the blood drain from his face.</p>
<p>They never talked about what happens after they killed the Dragon. Dream thinks that they didn’t want to jinx it, didn’t want to get their hopes up too high. They thought they were going to die trying, so what was the point in talking about futures they weren’t going to see?</p>
<p>But against all odds, they’re seeing it.</p>
<p>And George apparently doesn’t want Dream kissing him in this future.</p>
<p>“O-oh,” He responds, and the crashing realization sends his mind back to reality, to the aching pain lacing through every inch of his broken body. He pushes through it, but his words still come out strained, painful beyond hiding, “I- I didn’t know, I’m so-”</p>
<p>“No, no Dream,” George starts, cutting him off, “Dream, breathe- I need to go get a nurse.”</p>
<p>And George stands up, leaving Dream cold and alone and aching, the burning pain deep in his chest the only warmth he has in the cold, sterile hospital.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything happens in a rush after that. He’s kept in the medical center for another month at least, but the days blend together. They never talk about the kiss though. Dream just keeps his hands to himself when he wakes up, puts the proper distance for two friends between them, and breathes. George doesn’t seem distant, doesn’t seem cold, he only seems mildly unsure of himself. They’re okay, though. It takes them a few tense days, but they settle into their new normal. They settle into the unspoken agreement- they’re just friends, nothing more.</p>
<p>But it’s okay.</p>
<p>When Dream is finally told that he’s healthy enough to leave, they’re swept into ceremony after award after meeting after congratulation with people who have more money than Dream has seen over the course of his entire life. King Techno of the Kingdom of Traedor personally thanks them, although the exchange is just a little bit awkward and impersonal. He even offers them refuge and a mansion within the capital’s walls.</p>
<p>“So,” the young woman showing them diagram after diagram of endlessly grandiose mansions to choose from says, “I can give you two both some time to think about it if you need?”</p>
<p>Dream is tired though. He just wants somewhere to live, to settle down away from the public eye after all of this and just exist with George. He wants somewhere George will be happy, something to show what they’ve gained for themselves. Sweeping his gaze over the array of diagrams, he picks one of the less ornate designs, a home that isn’t small by any means other than in comparison to the diagrams around it.</p>
<p>“Does this look good George?” He asks his friend gently. The other looks overwhelmed at the prospect of choosing between the myriad of designs, and all Dream wants is to loop his arm over the other’s shoulder so he can just lean on him. That’s not what they’re doing now though, so Dream just keeps his hands to himself and points.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” George mumbles, “sounds good to me.”</p>
<p>“Sirs,” she begins, hesitantly, “I’m not sure you understand- King Techno is allowing you both your own choice of lodging, anywhere within the city.” She sounds confused and unsure. It sets something on edge in his bones. “He’s offered to have mansions built for you both. You need not share-”</p>
<p>Dream wants to snap at her for some reason. He doesn’t let himself. Instead he looks at George, trying to see if the other wants to be away from him.</p>
<p>Even after everything, the idea of being separate- the idea of George wanting to be separate- was ludicrous to him.</p>
<p>The look that passes between them is nearly incomprehensible. It’s a war of desperation and confusion and fear, but Dream is almost positive it means that George agrees; it means that George finds the idea of living away from Dream to be absolutely terrible too.</p>
<p>Even the lingering sadness at not getting to be close to George gives way a bit in the knowledge that no matter what, George will be with him, so long as he has room for him at his side.</p>
<p>“We understand perfectly, ma’am, but we would prefer it if we share,” he says finally, voice barely concealing the harsh edge of protectiveness exploding from his chest.</p>
<p>George sends him a look overflowing with warmth, and Dream knows it will be okay.</p>
<p>So long as he breathes, Dream will always have a place at his side for George.</p>
<p>And that makes it all okay.</p>
<p> ~*~</p>
<p>They don’t give King Techno an answer that day, contrary to what the man obviously wants. He leaves and George sees the way his steps are just a bit more clipped than normal. When the two heroes see Techno and his royal entourage at the base of the hill at the royal carriage, George turns to Dream with a grin he hopes hides his anxiety.</p>
<p>“You really enjoy getting under his skin, don’t you?” he says with a little laugh.</p>
<p>“Who, me?” Dream asks, laughing lightly. They smile at each other, and George wants to kiss him.</p>
<p>But he can’t.</p>
<p>It’s just not what they do anymore.</p>
<p>On the Hunt, they were more likely to die than to live. They were all they had. It was no wonder they fell into their… habits. But now, they have every option in the world. Sure, Dream doesn’t go out in public without his mask on, but even then it’s well known that his popularity expands past just admiration for a hero. Dream has options now. Hell, even George has options now, but he’s had a taste of Dream and he’s addicted now.</p>
<p>It’s obvious, he thinks. After everything they’ve been through, after every time George assured Dream he wasn’t going anywhere, sealing the promise with a kiss, it’s just a fact. But Dream hasn’t even told him what’s wrong- and something is clearly wrong- let alone snuggled up to him on the couch or kissed his cheek, things that were commonplace during the Hunt.</p>
<p>So, obviously, Dream is done with their little set up.</p>
<p>It makes sense, he thinks. Men just really aren’t in relationships with men. Of course Dream, given his options, would choose to eventually settle with a woman. That had been George’s plan too, before he went and fell in love with Dream.</p>
<p>“What are you thinking about?” Dream asked softly, his green eyes shining with care.</p>
<p>It was okay though, because George still has Dream. This is something he knows. No matter what, they’re still going to be together in everything. For now, that would simply have to be enough.</p>
<p>“If we have enough veggies for omelets,” he lies, but it’s soft too, because it’s okay. “I don’t think we do. To the market?” He asks with a smile.</p>
<p>It’s okay.</p>
<p>“Anything for omelets,” Dream replies with a little relieved grin, and pulls his mask back down over his face.</p>
<p>They have each other, and that won’t fail, not for life threatening adventures, not for the monotonous crawl of everyday life, and certainly, if it comes down to it, not for a war.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a few days later when Dream brings it up. They’re sitting in their living room together, and George is reading while Dream jots words down in a notebook. It’s silly, but over the past few months he’s picked up poetry. Typically, it helps him ignore his racing thoughts, but today he can’t stop his every line turning back to George and war and chasing <i>something</i>- although it might be more like running from something; he’s not sure. He doesn’t always understand what he’s written and he’s found that he’s okay with that, but today it’s just frustrating. Every few minutes he finds himself looking up at George and he can’t help but think of how beautiful the brunet is. Yet that’s something he’s been trying to get away from thinking. Instead, he redirects his thoughts towards the other thing occupying his head.</p>
<p>The war.</p>
<p>It’s a testament to his self control that he hasn’t combusted from his anxious thoughts by now. He wants to ask George about it, to see if he’s okay going- if he doesn’t want to go, Dream won’t leave. The mere idea of being separated like that is completely unthinkable.</p>
<p>That thought should be troubling, he knows. But it’s really not. It’s just the way things are with them. Even though Dream isn’t allowed to be in love with George, that doesn’t mean he’s ever going to stop loving him.</p>
<p>It doesn’t mean that he’ll ever stop thinking of them as two halves of one whole soul.</p>
<p>“You’re staring, Dream,” George calls, barely looking up from his book, but Dream can see the dusting of pink that crosses his cheeks.</p>
<p><i>How can I not stare at art?</i> he almost calls, but at the last moment catches himself. That’s not what George wants, and all Dream wants is for George to be happy and comfortable.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I was just thinking,” he says instead, the taste of honesty on his tongue, dulled only by his own vagueness.</p>
<p>At that, George looks up. Even after all the bumpy changes, they still know each other almost as well as they know themselves. “What about?” And he’s beautiful, Dream knows he should stop thinking that but he just can’t, not after seeing the other’s every curve and hidden sharp edge and hollow spot and high point. Not when he’s artwork, made to be more perfect than any god. So perfect he puts the rising sun to shame with his smile. Far more perfect than any vile star in the terrible, grey night sky.</p>
<p>But he’s not supposed to see that anymore.</p>
<p>As if he could ever just <i>stop</i>.</p>
<p>“I was thinking about the war,” he lies. The truth would make George unhappy because he can’t give Dream what he so desperately wants. Whenever Dream is upset or disheartened, he knows it upsets the other, and he can’t stand seeing George, beautiful, perfect George, unhappy.</p>
<p>It’s almost like that’s why he’s trying so hard to force everything to be perfect.</p>
<p>George fidgets and slips his eyes back down to his book.</p>
<p>Dream knows George doesn’t want to go to the war very much. He also knows that if something doesn’t change soon, Dream won’t be able to keep hiding the fact that he’s sad, and well—</p>
<p>He can’t stand making George sad.</p>
<p>If George truly, fully doesn’t want to go, Dream won’t go.</p>
<p>It would take one word from George, to tell Dream no, and they would remain safely in Susea.</p>
<p>It would only take one word.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It would only take one word.</p>
<p>It would take one word, to tell Dream yes, to maybe make him happy. To give him purpose again, because George is fairly certain that’s what Dream is so desperately chasing.</p>
<p>George doesn’t want to go, though.</p>
<p>He doesn’t want to risk their lives in something so petty and, after everything, so inconsequential as a rebelling province.</p>
<p>Just let them go, in his opinion.</p>
<p>And really, if nothing had changed from the Hunt? He would say no.</p>
<p>But Dream has been so lost as of late.</p>
<p>And George would do anything to see the gentle curve of Dream’s smile again.</p>
<p>Atop that, a small, selfish part of George wonders if placing them back into the stress of a situation like that would maybe make their relationship more… intimate, again.</p>
<p>In the end, it only takes one word.</p>
<p>It only takes one word, and three months later they’re packing their belongings to go to war.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Gentle Caress of Normalcy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Redemption lies plainly in truth</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! Back for chapter three, in which we finally see the start of the war~ This chapter took  s o  long to write y'all but I'm super proud of it!! It's somewhere around 10,000 words and is completely set in the present time of the war &lt;3 we get to meet our other boys! also to technoblade and techno fans: I'm sorry. Recent developments will say that Technoblade is not a king. I understand and agree. But I'm in too deep now. My deepest, sincerest apologies.</p>
<p>also the chapter count went up- whoops.<br/>Its gonna keep happening I'm not sorry about that</p>
<p>Anyways! I hope you all like this chapter and all of the little moments I've hidden within!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They meet Sapnap on their first day of travel- by foot generally, although higher ranking members of Techno’s army such as Dream and George are given horses.</p>
<p>“Are you planning on keeping that thing on the entire time we’re out here, or what? It’s kind of creepy if you ask me.”</p>
<p>It’s the first thing the brawny general says to Dream upon trotting his horse astride the two. Dream assumes it’s in reference to the polished white mask that smiles blankly out at the horizon, shielding his features and secrets from prying eyes. He doubts the other is referring to his green jacket.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t spare him a glance at first. He’s too hopped up on a pulsing excitement that teeters just at the edge of anxiety. Somehow, he can’t help but hope that old habits will rear their heads while he and George are out here like this. “Maybe that’s part of the point,” he says, and he knows his voice rings with a certain sort of poise and defiance that not many possess. It’s part of his charm, he supposes.</p>
<p>“I’m General Sapnap, one of His Majesty’s war advisers,” he introduces, puffing out his chest as if a political ranking means anything in real life.</p>
<p>“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sapnap. I’m Dream, the guy who killed the Ender Dragon,” he says, matching the general’s tone in an almost mocking manner. It’s not his fault that powerful people trip over their feet constantly to get in his good grace, as if they will then hold some of the renown that he and George, the real heroes, hold.</p>
<p>Suddenly, he sees movement from the corner of his eye and a moment too late he realizes that George has reached out and kicked his horse in the hindquarter. The chestnut mare takes a few quick and powerful strides forward, jostling him fully from the almost comfortable position he’d found on her back.</p>
<p>“Geooooooooorge,” he calls petulantly, knowing he’s whining but not being able to help it. It’s a natural reaction and after years of never having to filter himself it isn’t easy to start. It’s not like it will even really matter in the end.</p>
<p>He glances behind him to see George lead his horse into the spot Dream was just in, next to the General.</p>
<p>“Don’t mind him. Dream is an asshole at the best of times. I’m George,” he starts, and the two begin chatting amicably as Dream pouts in front of them, riding ever onwards.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oddly enough, Sapnap wasn’t trying to use their popularity to socially climb and gain power.</p>
<p>Oddly enough, over the two week march to L’Manburg, Sapnap becomes a friend.</p>
<p>They befriend Bad, Quackity, and Karl too. Bad is the only one of them who ranks higher than Sapnap. He’s the camp Prefect, Techno’s third in command under the Tribune, Skeppy. Sapnap himself is the general of the first squadron with Karl as his first Lieutenant. Quackity is a general as well, lower in rank than Dream and George, who are sharing the second Squadron. Even with the range of ranking in power, they get along well. Bad spends most of his time with Skeppy though, but when he’s around, they find he’s extremely sweet and personable. Karl and Quackity are both insane, if Dream is being honest, but it’s good. It’s fun. Sapnap is the best out of all of them, in his opinion. He’s collected, level-headed but passionate, and just extremely real. Dream kind of really likes them all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The travel is good.</p>
<p>Their first night they’re given tents, and Dream and George both try to explain that they’ll only need one at the same time. It causes them to almost crack up in Skeppy’s face. The Tribune looks at them for a moment before shaking his head and making note of the change.</p>
<p>That first night isn’t quite the first night that Dream and George have spent in the same space since before they dropped themselves into the End, but it feels closer than any other time and Dream is excited.</p>
<p>On their first night outside L’Manburg, they set up their permanent camp. Again, Dream and George are offered separate tents, and again they refuse, comfortable in the knowledge that no matter what, they have each other.</p>
<p>It’s odd, honestly. Where they stand with each other has never been messier than it is now. When they first met, it was easy because it didn’t matter. Then, they became friends and clicked so perfectly that they just understood each other. When they fell into each other in a sea of affection, it was simply the way things were. It was so <i>right</i> that they never asked questions or talked about it. It was only so right because they were just two people alone, stranded in a sea of trouble and pain, and they latched on to each other.</p>
<p>Dream thinks that at first, they both just agreed that their set up was for the Hunt only. Then, Dream fell in love. George did too- at least that’s what he said. But Dream woke up in a hospital room feeling broken and lost and confused, and the first thing George did was push him away. Two men in a relationship wasn’t common, wasn’t practical, Dream knew. So he respected what George wanted. Maybe George still loves him, maybe he doesn’t. But Dream knows that George doesn’t want to be with him romantically. If he had, he wouldn’t have pushed him away in the hospital, he would’ve just continued to be Dream’s, just like he always had been. He didn’t, though. So Dream respected it, didn’t ask about it, gave George space so he was comfortable. He wanted it to be clear that he respected George’s decisions.</p>
<p>They’re floating in this space now, relaying old boundaries on what is normal between two friends who are each other’s entire world. Even still- even in all of the mess surrounding their lives and relationship, they never lost the knowledge that they’re together, through everything. Some things are just too real to lose in the mess of emotions.</p>
<p>After setting up in the early morning light, a grand lunch is provided in their newly set up dining area. Rows upon rows of warriors line wooden tables. The ranking officials fill about two of their own tables. Dream and George are seated across from Sapnap and Karl, Quackity to Karl’s left, and Bad sits to the right of Dream, next to Skeppy. Sitting dead center in their table, directly next to Skeppy, is Techno.</p>
<p>The crowds are raucous and happy to finally settle. They know what they’re getting into but the underlying current of adrenaline rushes through them all, and they ride the high with the new friends they’ve made on the journey.</p>
<p>King Techno stands, dusting off his pants neatly, his deep red cape swishing around his legs as the slight heels of his boots tap along the ground while he walks up to a small raised stage at the front of the eating area. He steps up onto the unfinished wooden platform and silence slowly spreads across the army, heralded by a sweeping breeze. The air ruffles through Techno’s honey brown hair, his braid sitting loosely against his back. The sun highlights the strands rose gold; paired with the bronze of his crown perched neatly atop his head, he truly is a regal sight. As much as Dream disrespects authority, he can’t help the worm of respect and excitement digging it’s way into the hollows of his chest.</p>
<p>“All,” The King calls, and his voice doesn’t boom like Dream’s can, yet the words are still clearly heard from corner to corner. The area is so quiet that Dream is sure he would be able to hear a single pin fall on the dirt as if it was directly next to his ear. Even the world was silent, as if the Earth herself was holding her breath to let the Major General speak. “Thank you for makin’ this journey with us to fight L’Manburg. Many of you already know why we are here. If you don’t, you might be a bit hasty in your decision makin’.”</p>
<p>A chorus of chuckles break out through the crowd, but every soul is silent in the next moment.</p>
<p>“In an act of direct disobedience, L’Manburg has continued to manufacture their illicit substances, and when our forces showed up to the province to shut the business down, members of the city elite launched a direct attack against us. During this, they provided us a complete declaration of independence. We did not accept, and so they have declared war upon us.” The sun lights fire to the land as Techno pauses. His right hand lands upon his crown, which he slips off gently, reverently. His left hand slips under his cape, around his belt, and pulls out the face of a beastly pig- a mask, Dream realizes. The entire moment centers into the way Techno slips the mask over his dark eyes and nose, leaving his mouth uncovered to reveal the way his lips pull into a slight grin. “For our honor,” he begins again, dropping his hand fully and looking up. The mask is chilling, and Dream swears that the King is looking directly at him. “We will stop this rebellion, and make sure no one thinks to do somethin’ so rash in the future. Thank you.” And then he dips into a regal bow, torso held perfectly parallel with the ground.</p>
<p>Skeppy is the first to bellow his cheer, but it isn’t a split second before he’s joined by the mass of people at their backs. Even Dream finds himself standing proudly next to George, face covered in his perpetual mask, grinning as George lets a cheer of his own.</p>
<p>Dream finally feels direction pulsing in his bones again. They will fight L’Manburg, and they will win- for the honor of Traedor and for the honor of all men.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dream! George!” Sapnap calls to them, waving and trotting towards them through the sunset.</p>
<p>“Sapnap!” George calls happily from under Dream’s arm. They’d been walking back to their tent after touring the camp, and it was just a natural gesture. It felt easy, like so many things hadn’t since the Hunt. Dream is just so happy and relieved that George seems happy. He was so anxious that he’d made the wrong choice in agreeing to fight, but as everything seems to right itself in their catastrophe of a world, Dream feels the anxiety ebb away like the retreating tide.</p>
<p>“Which one of you has the bigger tent?” He asks cheerily without any other explanation.</p>
<p>Dream and George look at each other and snort. “What are you even talking about?”</p>
<p>Sapnap grins, and the smile is almost as excited as it is mischievous. “We need somewhere good to celebrate! So which of you has the bigger tent?”</p>
<p>Something self-conscious settles under his ribs and he glances at George, eyes questioning. George, however, seems to have no such thoughts as he rests lazily against Dream’s side. “We’re sharing one- it’s pretty big though so it should be good.”</p>
<p>A moment of silence falls over them while Sapnap looks between them carefully.</p>
<p>Dream feels George tense minutely against his side as a grin splits Sapnap’s face. “You better be careful with that.” His tone is the devil and nothing else. “Don’t want the ladies getting the wrong idea, do we?”</p>
<p>Something about the way the words are said grates against Dream’s thoughts, although it might also be the way that George, who was previously warm and almost pliant against his side, has frozen stock-still. With the mask on, Dream is sure that nothing is showing on his face and George has always been fantastic at schooling his features and hiding his emotions. Sapnap most definitely can’t tell anything is off, so why make it a big deal?</p>
<p>Dream carefully squeezes George’s shoulder and leans more fully against the other. “It’s not like we haven’t spent the past however many years living together in even tighter spaces, so why waste resources?” he asks with a smile, and he feels George slowly relax and lean more fully against him.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Sapnap, not everyone needs an entire mansion to survive.”</p>
<p>“Hey! What are you trying to say?”</p>
<p>And suddenly things are once again normal.</p>
<p>Not just post-Hunt normal. They almost feel <i>right.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first day passes by, and then the next, and the next, and the next. They’re filled with various forms of preparation- war meetings, finalizations of the camp, and organization of the troops, to name a few.</p>
<p>After about a week, they approach the walls of L’manburg for their first battle. They have more fighters than the province but it doesn’t make the fight easy. Honestly, to Dream, it felt harder. They had to coordinate massive groups of people, one huge target, whereas L’manburg’s army was small and spry, split into little groups that attacked their edges.</p>
<p>Traedor wins the battle easily, the opposing army scattering like leaves in the wind.</p>
<p>Dream, George, Sap, Karl, and Quackity celebrate in the eating area, accompanied by the boisterous cheers of the army. The army they now call their own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Most of the battles in the first few weeks go like that.</p>
<p>Every one that passes creates more and more injuries and a slowly growing number of casualties and it occurs to Dream that maybe this is L’Manburg’s goal. To slowly chip at their forces and whittle them down to size. When Dream tells Techno as much, Techno brushes him off.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it, Dream. Just keep doin’ your job and I’ll do mine. We’ll win this easily.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s at their next battle that Dream goes blade to blade against Tommy.</p>
<p>Dream knew of Tommy, vaguely. He was a local hero and well known for his prowess with a blade. That he would be L’Manburg’s most prized fighter isn’t surprising. It’s not at all surprising when Dream turns in the heat of battle, the sounds of blades clashing and people screaming bouncing around his skull like rubber balls, to bring his axe against the famed, engraved diamond sword held balanced in the hero’s hand.</p>
<p>“Dream!” the blonde calls, and it could almost sound cheerful had it not been filled with vitriol. “Fancy finally meeting you out here!” The words are accented by the scrape and clang of their blades.</p>
<p>Dream’s axe slides off of Tommy’s sword, and the man swings the weapon quickly at Dream’s side. The other’s actions are agile and fast and infuriatingly competent, but Dream is more agile. Quicker. Better.</p>
<p>The sword bounces off of his shield with a resounding crack, and Dream sends the other back a few steps with a shove from the reinforced wood.</p>
<p>Wind buffets his face in waves as rain starts to drip down to the land. The ground under his feet is hard. The sun slowly sinking on the horizon leaks orange through the sky. The air smells like dirt and sweat and blood.</p>
<p>Dream raises his axe and swings down hard, and Tommy reaches up and blocks with his sword. His right hand grips the handle while his left braces the end of the blade, flat side pressing harshly into his palm. The blade is caught just under the head of the deadly sharp axe, straining against the handle as Dream bears down with all of his might.</p>
<p>For a brief snapshot in time, the rest of the battles surrounding them slip away and it’s just him and Tommy.</p>
<p>He takes in the other’s frame. It’s muscled but long, almost gangly like Dream was when he first met George. His face has the slightest hint of patchy stubble, and the remnants of what once was baby fat.</p>
<p>“You’re just a kid?” He asks, disbelief clouding his voice. To make up for it, Dream yanks down on his axe and kicks Tommy away in the stomach. He brings up his shield as he further takes in the other. Tommy lets out a cough as he properly stands back up to a proper fighting position.</p>
<p>His voice is indignant as he replies, “I’ll have you know I’m eighteen!” The strike that pairs with his words is vicious and knocks him back a step. “And probably far better than the likes of you!” The sword barely slices into his shoulder as he quickly turns, the blood dripping down his skin doesn’t even faze him. He shifts the dodge into a strike, whirling around in a dancing spin to land a heavy axe strike on the other’s shield before dancing away to hook his shield on his belt. With his free hand he pulls another axe off of his back.</p>
<p>It’s risky with the other’s quick sword strikes, but something wholly unpleasant is swirling in his gut knowing the other is so young. It mixes dangerously with the already swirling pit that’s sat in his stomach since the first time he hurt someone badly during battle. He can’t think about that right now though, not when so much is happening, so he throws himself headfirst into the dangerous, deadly dance ahead of him and focuses on the adrenaline of fighting with someone competent, someone he’s not afraid of hurting.</p>
<p>Or at least- someone he doesn't care about.</p>
<p>His feet barely touch the dirt as he propels himself towards Tommy, body low to the ground as he lands a strike with one axe on the other’s upper leg while the other redirects his sword.</p>
<p>Tommy is fast, he’ll give him that. Dream has to keep ducking and weaving and bobbing to miss the other’s attacks. Yet every time the masked man careens to the side to avoid the sword he lands a hit or two with the axe.</p>
<p>After what feels like eons of parrying, Dream lands a botched hit on Tommy’s chest, the blade landing flat but heavy against the other’s ribs. Tommy slips away with a cough, a bit of blood flecking his lip. He gives Dream an almost manic grin as he raises his shield and keeps retreating back. “It’s been fun Dream. I can’t wait to slaughter you next time.” The other sucks in a deep breath before shouting, “L’Manburg forever!” The words boom out over the field and suddenly people start slipping away. He catches sight of two fighters, one very tall, the other shorter, fighting Techno, and he watches as they dodge a sword strike and weave through the crowds of people only to be lost in the mayhem. Dream looks back for Tommy... and he’s gone.</p>
<p>They win the battle.</p>
<p>They tend to their wounded.</p>
<p>Dream begins to learn more about Tommy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Every so often, George stays off of the field to help in the med tents. At times it’s woefully understaffed and George has always been better at healing than he has been at hurting. It only makes sense then, that when L’Manburg sets explosives off around the field that he’d slip out of the fighting to help those around him affected. Back in the tent, he lays people down on beds and puts salve on burns and wraps injuries. He keeps slipping onto the field and off with another person draped over his shoulder, many too wounded to walk on their own. He drops them with other medics in the tent or quickly yet thoroughly takes care of them himself. Then it’s back out into the muddy, blood-saturated field to look for more downed soldiers to help. He finds Quackity, arm burned badly and barely managing to hold off two faceless soldiers. George steps in, fury burning just under his skin, and sends them away with a few angry sword slices.</p>
<p>“Go to the medics,” George says breathlessly, already scanning the area for more downed people.</p>
<p>“It’s just my arm-” Quackity starts, but George cuts him off with a scathing look.</p>
<p>Quackity disappears in the direction of the med tents.</p>
<p>It was odd honestly, the fact that he didn’t feel like he needed to be glued to Dream’s back in these fights. There were days when they still would fight back to back, flitting across the field in a wake of destruction, slowly inching closer to the tall city walls. Yet other days, like today, they would completely lose sight of each other to do their own things- mostly on days Dream went head to head with Tommy. Somehow, it went unspoken on both sides that that was their fight and their fight only. Dream would always send Tommy running, but that didn’t stop Tommy from landing some heavy blows on his friend.</p>
<p>It was another fight they’d won, but it had resulted in a lot of casualties. Some of the people George tried to retrieve on the field had been corpses, and one had died in his arms as he carried him to the tent.</p>
<p>On their way back from the battle field, Quackity slides up next to him, arm bandaged from wrist to shoulder. “Thank you for what you did today- if it wasn’t for you I might not even be alive right now. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to keep my arm,” he says with a shaky but kind grin. “You know, everyone feels the same. You’re indispensable, Georgie.” And the other walks away, probably to find Karl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George finally collapses in his and Dream’s shared tent at the end of the day and he breathes a deep sigh of relief. He’s going to have to get some water to wash the blood off his shoulders and the filth from his skin but his exhaustion weighs on him like shackles and frees his thoughts from their neatly filed and hidden away boxes.</p>
<p>All he wants is for Dream to come back and to cuddle up next to him like they used to. Maybe they could make their way down to a nearby stream and wash in the cool water together. George reaches out to try and snag his stray thoughts to force them back to their boxes, but his head feels like honey and it traps his hands. Nothing can stop the thoughts meandering back to the Hunt, with their open hearts and wandering hands. Near the end of the Hunt, when they’d find a river they’d slowly slip out of clothes and gently wash the grime of travel off of each other’s skin. The cold water would wash over them as they kissed, would slide against their skin as they slid against each other.</p>
<p>He misses it, so, so much.</p>
<p>George <i>aches</i>.</p>
<p>He finally grasps the thought and shoves it away, hot shame flooding his veins like molten lava. No matter what George wants for himself, his want for Dream to be happy and comfortable is stronger. Dream clearly doesn’t want what they had on the Hunt now, doesn’t even mention it, and George will learn to respect that. He’ll shove his errant thoughts so deeply into the back of his mind that he’ll forget they were even there. He’ll learn to live his every day life holding the boxes shut and it will all be okay.</p>
<p>The exhaustion weighing on his frame begins pulling on his eyelids and he starts to lightly doze where he’s leaning against the chest of his clothes. He almost falls asleep but a cheerful goodbye from just outside the tent pulls him just about awake. He barely blinks his eyes open to see Dream enter the tent, covered in the blood and dirt of battle. The second the tent is properly closed however, everything about his normally relaxed and poised frame shifts, tension contorting his long body into a mess of odd angles. He heavily sits on his bed and lets out a small, almost pitiful whine, “George?”</p>
<p>The noise dissolves all of his exhaustion, any thought of sleep even close to his head gone. He’s on his feet in less than a second- he’s over to the other’s side almost as quick.</p>
<p>“Dream?” he asks when he sees the other properly. His head is tucked sideways into his drawn up left shoulder, mask still obscuring most of his features, and his left forearm is pressed against his stomach. All of his weight is held on his right hand, propped behind him.</p>
<p>And there’s blood.</p>
<p><i>Everywhere</i>.</p>
<p>“George, I think- I think I did it again,” he says, voice strained, and he angles his head up slightly to face the older. A broken smile peeks out from beneath the mask.</p>
<p>They both know what <i>it</i> is.</p>
<p>It’s pushing too hard.</p>
<p>Going too far.</p>
<p>Getting himself hurt and not taking care of himself.</p>
<p>There’s so much blood.</p>
<p>Yet if Dream was able to get here, pretending the entire time that he was fine, then it’s fixable.</p>
<p>George takes a deep breath and reaches up slowly to Dream’s face, unclipping the mask and setting it on the bed beside them before reaching back up to wipe a smear of blood off of his chin.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” he murmurs, so gently, soft so that even the wind -even the stars- would struggle to hear it. “I’m right here. I’ll fix you up, okay?”</p>
<p>With light touches and watchful eyes, he slowly goes over Dream’s form. Healing cuts and bruises are littered between the fresh ones, and even after years of surviving in the wild, George has never seen Dream’s body so continuously battered. The first big thing wrong he notices is the other’s shoulder. It’s hard to see under the armor, but it looks pushed out of place. Knowing Dream, he probably tried to pop it back in on the field, and when he couldn’t, he just fought through it. One misplaced strike from someone’s weapon or shield or one too-heavy swing of Dream’s axe could have popped the bone out at any time.</p>
<p>The other is notoriously good at ignoring pain until he deems everything to be perfectly fine. Before George was able to properly read all of the other’s quirks during the Hunt, there was a day when they’d fought so much and Dream had gotten so hurt that after they got through it all, Dream just passed out. George hadn’t even known anything was wrong.</p>
<p>Suffice to say that after that, George quickly learned how to tell when the younger was hiding an injury, or simply didn’t think it was a big enough deal to mention.</p>
<p>Even still, that skill did him no good when he wasn’t even with Dream.</p>
<p>With hands gentler than the soft lap of the midnight tide, George carefully begins pulling at straps on the other’s armor, removing it piece by excruciating piece. He can feel the way Dream tenses under his touch, but they get through it. He carefully pulls Dream’s shirt off of his shoulders and away from where it’s stuck to his skin with blood. A distant part of his mind tries to remind him of how this has happened in the past, but his conscious brain brushes it off easily. All George can think of is Dream’s health and wellbeing right now.</p>
<p>That’s when he sees problem number two, and probably the source of all the blood.</p>
<p>A deep laceration right above his right hip and onto his stomach is bleeding sluggishly, blackish red oozing from the ravine in his side unendingly. The amount of blood he’s probably lost-</p>
<p>George can’t panic right now, so he won’t. He balls up a cloth and presses it against the wound, gently, oh so gently, yet Dream’s eyes pinch shut at the pain.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” George whispers, “this is going to hurt, but you’ll manage, yeah? You always do.” The words are barely a murmur, light like dust floating in the air. Comforting like only Dream has ever heard him. Like he’s only ever been for Dream. “Hold this, okay?”</p>
<p>Dream shakily takes over applying pressure to the cut as George stands.</p>
<p>“Don’t- don’t leave?” he asks, his voice raspy and tight with pain and exhaustion.</p>
<p>He would never. “I’m just grabbing stuff from my chest.”</p>
<p>George grabs a few things. He comes back to Dream with some rolls of bandages, a stick about an inch thick, a water bottle, some more cloth, a curved needle and thread, strong alcohol, and an amber healing potion.</p>
<p>“Let’s deal with this first,” he murmurs with a light touch to Dream’s neck above his shoulder. The younger just stiffly nods back. George silently gives him the stick to bite down on before he lays his hands in the other’s exposed, swollen shoulder. With a deep breath, he counts down in his head.</p>
<p>Three,</p>
<p>Two, </p>
<p>He skips one, snapping the bone back into place as gently yet efficiently he can. Dream is silent, but when he reaches up and takes the stick out, it has deep indents where the blond’s teeth bit down. He wraps Dream’s shoulder and moves on to the side.</p>
<p>With the clean cloth, he swipes at the blood drying on his skin, slowly working towards the wound. He cleans it as gently as he can, but Dream’s breathing is still getting heavier with each passing moment.</p>
<p>“We’re almost there, it’s okay.”</p>
<p>Finally pulling the newly soiled cloth away, the wound is clean enough that George can see it’s not so deep as to need stitches, at least not with the use of a healing potion. To be safe though, George hands the other the stick again.</p>
<p>“Bite.”</p>
<p>And then a scratching, strangled cry leaves Dream’s clenched teeth as alcohol stings against the open wound. </p>
<p>The sound hurts George like not much can and before he realizes it he’s muttering a litany of soothing words to the other as he wraps his middle in bandages.</p>
<p>“We’re almost there, it’s okay. It’s okay.”</p>
<p>Finally, he pulls the stick out of Dream’s mouth and puts it with the dirty cloth for the trash. George lifts the potion to Dream’s lips and Dream obediently drinks the bitter liquid.</p>
<p>“There,” George says softly. “That’s it, love.”</p>
<p>And immediately clamps his teeth together.</p>
<p>Yet somehow, tension is leaving Dream’s frame and when their eyes meet they’re softer, more relaxed. Almost happy.</p>
<p>George stands before he can do something else dumb, like kiss the other. He’s grabbing the trash when a hand loops lightly around his wrist. He’d know the touch anywhere, the callouses on the fingers, the length of the hand, the smooth skin of the palm- all of it was so deeply ingrained in his subconscious that he’d know Dream’s hands while sleeping, would remember them even if they were miles apart.</p>
<p>“George?”</p>
<p>George has always loved Dream’s hands. </p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>George never forgot how expressive Dream’s eyes are.</p>
<p>He watches them flash with something close to indecision.</p>
<p>“Nevermind. Thank you,” he says, smiling softly up at George.</p>
<p>He leaves to throw out the bloody cloth and stick, and when he comes back, he forgoes washing away the dirt on his skin to lay down on his cot, alone and away from Dream.</p>
<p>George <i>aches</i>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As much as he dislikes the violence of it all, George wants to win the war. He doesn’t want to see Sapnap and Karl and Bad and Quackity hurt. He doesn’t want to see anyone hurt. He especially doesn’t want to see Dream hurt again.</p>
<p>He doesn’t like killing people, he’s found. He knows that every person could be someone’s happy point, someone’s love, and ruining that doesn’t sit well with him. He finds himself on the battlefield less and less, to the point that he’s only fighting when he’s back to back with Dream. The rest of his time he spends in the med tents, watching people he’s grown familiar with trickle in and out with injuries of varying fatality. The day Sapnap comes in with an arrow stuck deep in his shoulder and a pained grin, he almost cries.</p>
<p>More than he wants to win, he wants everyone to go home.</p>
<p>He knows that’s not an option, so he looks into ways to get it to end sooner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George is with him the next time Tommy pops up on the field. They’re twirling around each other in a near deadly whirlwind- Dream aims all of his hits at non fatal areas, and he knows George is doing the same. Each strike knocks a fighter to their knees, knocks them down and out. For every bruise that appears on his skin, Dream breaks a leg, and for every new bruise on George’s skin he breaks ten.</p>
<p>They swirl around each other, as fluid as water under the burning sun. Their weapons are extensions of their bodies and they’re extensions of each other.</p>
<p>Three faceless soldiers dart towards them from all angles. One swings an iron sword at Dream while another jabs the tip of a sword towards his side.  Another, in that same moment, levels a sword and swings it towards George’s neck. Dream raises his shield smoothly, knocking the first’s sword just so that it gets unseated in his hand. George blocks Dream’s unguarded side with his shield while ducking under the sweep of the third’s blade.</p>
<p>An arrow flies through the air, straight towards George’s side.</p>
<p>He doesn’t even flinch as Dream’s axe connects solidly with the wooden shaft and knocks the arrow off course.</p>
<p>It lands harmlessly on the ground to the side.</p>
<p>George takes the brief pin drop of time to jump around Dream’s side to the one he blocked, ramming his sword straight through the meat of the enemy’s thigh. The one that swung at George gets a vicious slam to the side of his head from the flat of Dream’s axe.</p>
<p>The other runs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You okay George?” Dream calls over the din of battle as they sweep their destruction across the field. He swings out with a graceful swipe of his axe, impaling it deep into a L’Manburg soldier’s shoulder.</p>
<p>George blocks an incoming sword strike as he calls back, “Just peachy.”</p>
<p>Dream laughs as he kicks a man straight in the chest, back away from them. “Come on Georgie, don’t be like that!”</p>
<p>George can’t help the little chuckle that leaves his chest at that. “Fine, fine, I’m doing wonderfully,” he calls back, landing a swift cut deep across someone’s leg.</p>
<p>“Now that’s what I like to hear!” Dream replies, almost giddy. If he ignores the fact that they’re fighting real, living, breathing people, it almost feels like they’re back at a pillager outpost, or maybe deep inside a woodland mansion.</p>
<p>A sword strike flies towards him. “Incoming!” He yells to George as he drops to duck. Seamlessly, George turns and swings his blade against the one coming towards them, knocking the enemy soldier off balance. In the moment of distraction, Dream slips from between them; as he moves out he slashes across the enemy’s waist. Then he’s back to back with George again, swapped in a moment without a single hiccup.</p>
<p>“We’re like a well oiled machine!” Dream says cheerfully after another slash of his sword.</p>
<p>A new figure appears at their side, familiar and friendly. “I hope I’m not interrupting your flirting but I need a bit of extra cover,” Sapnap says with a grin, slipping easily up to their least guarded side and drawing his sword and axe. George sputters a bit but easily begins working with Sapnap. Dream just smiles.</p>
<p>Their movements aren’t nearly as smooth as when it was just the two of them, but, surprisingly enough, it works. Sapnap fits into their fighting style smoothly- with the years of familiarity that Dream and George have together, the three of them could level the entire battle field. All that said, Dream and George on their own could probably clear the field with the rate they’re going at.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That, of course, is when Tommy approaches.</p>
<p>It’s like a bubble of calm falls over their pocket of the field. Sapnap and George are poised at his back, ready to strike should he ask, he knows.</p>
<p>“‘Ello Dream! And hello Dream’s friends,” The tall blonde says.</p>
<p>The three of them could take Tommy on his own in their sleep, <i>he knows</i>.</p>
<p>“Hello Tommy,” he drawls.</p>
<p>The other is all alone.</p>
<p>“Well, aren’t you going to introduce me?”</p>
<p>And yet. </p>
<p>“You two go on. George, keep Sap safe,” Dream tells them, turning his head with a little teasing smile- although he’s not quite sure it lands with most of his features hidden. Even still, his eyes never fully leave Tommy.</p>
<p>He can feel George looking at him, and he finally looks away from the young fighter. His grin turns predatory and he rolls his shoulders back and forth a bit as he meets George’s eyes. “I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>The two nod at him and he turns back to Tommy. The boy is flipping his sword around his hands in a show that might be intimidating to some. To Dream, who used to do the same thing, it just looks like anxiety.</p>
<p>“Come on now,” the man says, and Dream realizes his accent sounds almost like George’s. “Why’d you send them off? We could’ve had a party!”</p>
<p>Dream sinks into a predatory fighting stance.</p>
<p>“We would just be celebrating your death, and you know it.”</p>
<p>And then blows are passing by and every movement, every breath counts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream is a better fighter than Tommy. The hero of L’Manburg is all sharp angles and unrefined power- anger, caged. Dream is polished quartz and liquid fire. If Dream is grace and speed, Tommy is an explosion.</p>
<p>Even still, Tommy keeps slipping away and coming back like an annoying bug.</p>
<p>And even though Dream is better, Tommy is <i>good</i>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream, and Dream alone, is going to be the one to bring Tommy to his knees in surrender, once and for all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Proper healing potions are rare, due to the necessity of nether wart for the brewing process. It can be found in the overworld, but it’s scarce and only can be grown manually in small quantities- completely out of the sunlight and grown only on soul sand. There are very few established nether wart farms around the world, and they’re all as old as time. George has the only new one.</p>
<p>Other medicinal remedies have tried to copy the effects of a good healing potion, and they <i>are</i> relatively commonplace.</p>
<p>But there are other potions as well, even less common.</p>
<p>At least, so George has read.</p>
<p>Coincidentally, one of the few existing nether wart farms exists in the L’Manburg castle, and George has been watching. </p>
<p>How does a miniscule army the size of L’Manburg’s hold its own against the most impressive force on this plane?</p>
<p>Potions.</p>
<p>So George starts working.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The problem is that George has a very limited supply of nether wart with him. Even if he brought the majority of his farm with him, it still wouldn’t be enough to make a big difference. On top of that, he wants the nether wart he has with him to make healing potions for Dream. There’s one type of potion though, that doesn’t require nether wart.</p>
<p>Spider eyes and gunpowder and, if he wants it to last a little longer, the tiniest bit of crushed red stone, and he’ll have a bomb to throw on their enemies that saps their strength and makes them weak.</p>
<p>If he’s to make more than just a few, though, he’ll have to go gather ingredients himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day on which they’re not slated for an attack, George turns to Dream. They’re sprawled on the floor of their tent, near each other and near the fire pit in the center. He’s not entirely sure how they ended up on the ground, but it’s comfortable in the way the ground just is- hard, solid, stable. George catches his thoughts wandering to the Hunt, to their many nights laying directly on the earth. Back then, after a certain point, they’d curled up together like cats, warming each other more than any fire could. Now, they lay just out of arm's reach.</p>
<p>George wants to crawl over, to curl up in Dream’s arms.</p>
<p>He knows Dream doesn’t want that.</p>
<p>And he’s okay with that. </p>
<p>
  <i>He’s okay with that.</i>
</p>
<p>Instead, he speaks.</p>
<p>“Hey Dream,” he calls into the quiet, “do you want to go on an adventure?”</p>
<p>A beat passes where he can feel Dream’s eyes bore into him; he stares resolutely at the ceiling.</p>
<p>
  <i>”Yes.”</i>
</p>
<p>George knows he’s projecting, imagining it, but-</p>
<p>Dream sounds desperate.</p>
<p>Like a man starved, offered a full, home-cooked meal.</p>
<p>Like he’s dying and this is all he could ever want.</p>
<p>Like George just offered him the world.</p>
<p>George knows that Dream doesn’t want to be with him.</p>
<p>Yet it still steals his breath away.</p>
<p>“Good,” he whispers without his consent, and it’s filled to the brim with longing, George knows.</p>
<p>Because George is the man starving.</p>
<p>He’s starving, and Dream is veritable <i>feast.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>They end up deep in a mine, armor sitting heavy on their tired shoulders and pick and sword strapped to their backs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If George lets himself forget, he can almost believe it’s the Hunt.</p>
<p>He focuses on the task in front of them.</p>
<p>“Why do you even need brewing supplies?” Dream asks as his axe slices cleanly through the Creeper in front of them.</p>
<p>George leans down to collect the explosive powder into a jar. “We’re at war, Dream. Do I have to say anything else?”</p>
<p>Dream snorts. “Sassy today, aren’t you, Gogy?”</p>
<p>George just hums, hiding his smile.</p>
<p>They fight like old times, watching each other’s backs as one of them mines away at redstone. If there are too many, they fight side by side, back to back. George has no qualms killing monsters, so he lets out every drop of excess emotion through his sword. It’s not fun. It’s not exactly pleasant, not in the way George knows Dream finds it to be, but he’s good at it so long as he isn’t being held in direct comparison to the masked freak.</p>
<p>No, the only thing he really enjoys about fighting is the way he and Dream become one cohesive unit. He feels so entirely close to the other, almost like when they used to-</p>
<p>The spider in front of him doesn’t deserve the ferocity with which George skewers it. At least it dies quickly.</p>
<p>Over the course of the day they gather plenty of resources that George can use to make splash weakness potions, the only type of potion that doesn’t require netherwart. They get out of the caves at sun down, the stars flickering into existence above them. Before the Nether- before <i>the boy</i>- Dream would have talked to them. He would’ve asked the constellations about their day around the world and thanked them for safety in the mines. Now, he just walks.</p>
<p>Silently, George sends up his thanks.</p>
<p>On their way back, they come across a stream. The evening air is warm, the water undoubtedly cool and a perfect way to rinse the grime and sweat of monster hunting off of his skin.</p>
<p>“Hey Dream,” he says, soft and excited. He doesn’t let himself think about it too hard. If he did, he knows he’d stop. He’s allowed to ask for things that he wants, George reminds himself.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Dream replies, open and pliant and just the slightest bit tired.</p>
<p>So George asks.</p>
<p>“Can we wash off in the river?”</p>
<p>The taller pushes his mask up to reveal bright, surprised eyes. There’s the slightest dusting of pink highlighting his freckles. Freckles he knows dust his shoulders, his back, his waist, his thighs-</p>
<p>George wants to get in the river to wash off the monster remains. Nothing else.</p>
<p>“That sounds amazing right now,” Dream says, excitement sparking deep in his tone. Under the blue light of the night sky, shadowed by the trees and highlighted by the orange blaze of their lantern, Dream glows. The warrior used to believe the stars, the earth, the ocean, the moon, and the sun to be godlike. Surrounded by them as Dream is, George thinks, not for the first time, that Dream may be a god among them.</p>
<p>George makes himself look away from Dream as he strips off his armor, lays out his weapons, and pulls his clothes off. When he gets to his smallclothes, he hesitates. It was never an issue though, back on the Hunt, even before they became… entangled. So he takes a centering deep breath to quell the wash of anxiety that wells up in his soul, and pulls the garment off.</p>
<p>When his foot hits the water, a shock of cold travels up his leg and up his spine; goosebumps raise on his skin. Even still, he sinks into the water. While he does, he feels the weight of a gaze on his back, heavy and burning. He glances back and sees Dream, bare form glowing in the darkness, looking away. His freckled, golden skin shines. Scars litter his body like art. George knows all of them by heart, even the new ones. George could map Dream’s skin blind, in the dark, by memory or touch alone. And while George doesn’t have a sky of stars painted across his skin, while he doesn’t have a history book etched into his body, George can only hope that Dream could do the same.</p>
<p>A minute later finds the two submerged to their waists in the cold water, adjusting to the temperature. The way the water glides across his skin as it flows by feels like a caress. It lifts away the dirt and it whisks away the tension. George lets his eyes slip shut at the sensation as he lowers himself further into the water.</p>
<p>He feels peaceful.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s the healing balm of the moon, hung delicately against the backdrop of vibrant, living stars. Maybe it’s the gentle babble of the water that parts around him. Maybe it’s the pleasant warmth of a gaze lingering on the back of his neck.</p>
<p>It’s probably a mix of all three, a bit of exhaustion clouding his judgement, and the heady familiarity of their day’s activities that leads him to do what he does next.</p>
<p>Like a spring, he uncoils and turns in one smooth, quick movement to face Dream. As he goes, he whips his arm across the top of the water, sending a wave of shadowed liquid at the other’s face. As the water arcs through the air, the drops catch the light and sparkle in slow motion.</p>
<p>They aren’t nearly as bright as Dream’s eyes as the water approaches. They widen with surprise and betrayal and glee. They glimmer like a sea of constellations decided to live within their depths.</p>
<p>Dream, in that moment, gets drenched.</p>
<p><i>”Oh,”</i> he growls playfully, sending shivers dancing across George’s skin as he laughs. “It is <i>so</i> on.”</p>
<p>And then <i>George</i> is drenched, and he pauses in his laughter to wipe river water out of his eyes. Now Dream is laughing his luminous, wheezing laugh and it truly is infectious. It feels like everything wrong with his life was righted with just that one laugh. So George, seeing an opening as Dream’s laughter sends him folding over and off-balance, darts forward, straight into the taller’s side.</p>
<p>Dream lets out a shout of surprise as they both go under with a splash. They’re under water for only a moment before they surface, far closer than before. George’s hand rests lightly on Dream’s freckled waist, and Dream is gently grasping his elbow. His calloused fingers slide seamlessly up George’s wet arm, lighting his nerves on fire. </p>
<p>A moment passes- or maybe it’s a century- in which George looks directly into Dream’s eyes. His pupils are large in the low light, the shadows flickering across his face darkening his eyes. Dream always said his eyes were green. Looking at them under the stars, George can see a thin rim of yellow ringing the other’s pupils and flecks of blue mixed into the greyish mountains and valleys of his irises.</p>
<p>George watches as Dream’s eyes leave his to roam the expanses of uncovered skin.</p>
<p>Every breath George exhales feels charged with electricity.</p>
<p>Slowly, Dream’s hand lands on his cheek, touching him sweetly.</p>
<p>All of the breath leaves George’s lungs in a sigh. He can’t help but lean into the touch.</p>
<p>“You’ve got some dirt here,” Dream whispers, breath fanning warmth across his cheeks and leaving a dusting of red in its wake. George lets his eyes slip shut.</p>
<p>When Dream’s rough fingertips slide across the gentle skin of his cheek, a shudder runs through his system, spreading from where Dream’s hand touches his face to the tips of his fingers. When George opens his eyes, he can see a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. It’s fond, kind, mischievous.</p>
<p>Maybe a bit hungry.</p>
<p>Or maybe George is just projecting.</p>
<p>“And some here,” Dream murmurs, pink lips softly forming each word. His hand ghosts down George’s neck, and he instinctively tilts his head back, baring the pale column of his throat.</p>
<p>Dream’s hand lands on his collarbone and gently wipes all traces of the day’s labors away.</p>
<p>George wants, so badly, to lean forward and kiss him</p>
<p>He doesn’t.</p>
<p>Instead, he just opens himself up for Dream. Lets his sword-worn hands wash away the layer of dirt he’d acquired. Lets his strong fingers dig into his tight shoulders.</p>
<p>George melts into it.</p>
<p>Dream’s hands slide from his shoulders down his arms, run blazing, icy paths down his back. They slide across his chest, dutifully cleaning his skin. George pulls in a gasp as Dream brushes his nipples and runs his burning hot touch to George’s sides, to the sensitive skin stretched over his ribs.</p>
<p>A soft whimper crawls out of the cavity of his chest, and he immediately freezes.</p>
<p>Dream’s hands pause, but they don’t tense.</p>
<p>“It’s okay, baby,” Dream purrs. “I don’t mind.” A breath passes, as the tension leaks away from him. “This is okay, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Y-yeah,” he says, and it comes out rough, weak.</p>
<p>“Good,” Dream whispers back. “I want you to feel nice.”</p>
<p>And then Dream’s hands are once again gently moving over his sides, taking him apart one careful caress at a time, sending shivers through his system and raising goosebumps across his skin. George is careful to not whimper again, but that doesn’t stop the way his breath catches and releases and burns in his lungs when Dream lightly drags his nails across his skin.</p>
<p>The only thing stopping him from being fully hard then was the cold water around his waist and the exhaustion pulling on his bones.</p>
<p>When Dream’s hands finally stop, it’s to settle on his hips, below the water lapping gently against his stomach. The blonde’s thumbs rub circles into the untouched skin there and it’s perfect torture. In that moment, George lets himself recenter. What just happened crossed so many lines, but it was Dream calling the shots.</p>
<p>
  <i>”I want you to feel nice.”</i>
</p>
<p>Well, Dream, he does.</p>
<p>Achingly wonderful.</p>
<p>George lets himself look at Dream’s dark eyes, at his tawny freckles and defined jaw, his strong shoulders, his sculpted chest. He lets his gaze wash over the other’s torso, lets his eyes linger on where the water cuts a line low on his hips. Where the water safely protects George from his stomach down, it splashes and dips dangerously under the jut of Dream’s hip bones. George tears his gaze away and instead focuses on the dirt covering Dream’s skin and rising into his hair.</p>
<p>“I want you to feel nice too,” George breathes into the night air, terribly genuine. He places a careful hand on Dream's shoulder and slips from the other’s light grasp. Dream’s fingers trail across his stomach, low, as he moves to the other’s back. With a gentle pressure to his shoulder, George pushes the other down, into the water until only his head is above.</p>
<p>Dream goes willingly, completely pliant, and that power makes George feel unstoppable. Like the entire world is under his fingertips.</p>
<p>In a way, it kind of is.</p>
<p>“Lean your head back,” he commands, voice tender in a way he doesn’t often let it be.</p>
<p>Dream does so, eyes meeting George’s from under him. His eyes are filled with emotions so bright that George thinks they’re lighting the entire world.</p>
<p>Truly godly.</p>
<p>With gentle hands he brushes Dream’s hair back, wetting it. Carefully, George sets about untangling the blonde strands. He runs his blunt nails across Dream’s scalp and the younger shivers, tension leaving his face, eyes slipping shut.</p>
<p>George methodically works his way through the hair, making sure to catch each strand and clean it as best he can without his soap. Dream’s breathing lengthens in a rare show of relaxation.</p>
<p>Even already knowing that no matter what, they have each other, the show of pure trust makes George’s heart soar. Dream trusts him to protect him at his most vulnerable. No matter what, George will cherish that, whether or not it comes with kissing and romance and a closeness that’s unacceptable for two men of their status.</p>
<p>George has learned to take what the world gives him gratefully- has learned to not ask for more lest he blow it all up.</p>
<p>He refocuses on the task in front of him. He focuses on making Dream feel safe and loved, something he’d been deprived of ever since the attack on his village. Selfishly, George is glad that he’s the one who got to help him learn to feel safe again.</p>
<p>George wants to lean down and kiss Dream’s lips like he has so many times in the past. He wants to lick the other across his jaw, leave marks down the length of his throat, worship every mole and freckle. </p>
<p>He doesn’t. He allows himself only one luxury.</p>
<p>Whether that’s because he’s weak or brave, he’s not sure.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s both.</p>
<p>As George runs has nails under Dream’s head at the most sensitive part of his scalp, he lets his fingers catch in the short, silky strands, and he lightly tugs on them.</p>
<p>Just like he remembers Dream liked.</p>
<p>The low rumble it pulls out of Dream’s chest feels like a purr, content, pleased beyond words. George lets the strands slip from his grasp and runs his hand across Dream’s entire scalp. He starts out tentatively, only letting his fingers linger really. Yet George has always gotten carried away when it came to Dream. So he tightens his grip, just a bit, and pulls.</p>
<p>Dream lets out what can be called nothing other than a moan.</p>
<p>And it’s intoxicating.</p>
<p>George goes with it, and after one brief moment where Dream freezes, barely perceptible but there none the less, he does it again.</p>
<p>Dream moans, again.</p>
<p>It’s soft, just a breath on the wind, but it’s there and it sends waves crashing through George’s head. Intoxicated on the rush, he runs his hands through the wet strands again, applying more pressure with his nails, just enough to almost hurt, before closing his fingers around the hair at the crown of Dream’s head and pulling again. This time, he doesn’t let go, just tugs Dream’s head to the right.</p>
<p>He goes limply, without complaint. His moan is louder, just by a bit, but it bolsters the untouchable fire lit in his stomach. The smoke rises up, up, up and clouds his mind.</p>
<p>He does it again, pulling to the left, harder.</p>
<p>The blond arches into it.</p>
<p>The fire in his stomach is a blaze by now, smoke so thick he can barely see and it makes him dizzy.</p>
<p>Dream is his to handle.</p>
<p>George has the world’s most powerful man under his fingertips and he can do whatever he wants to him.</p>
<p>Gently, almost reverently, he wraps his fingers tightly around the Dreams hair, and with a shaky exhale, he pulls down. Slowly. </p>
<p>Oh, so slowly.</p>
<p>Dream’s eyes flutter open, but he doesn’t pull away from George’s grip. Their eyes meet, and it's so open that George feels burned. As the water licks over Dream’s forehead, his eyes slip shut. He takes a deep breath, and George can feel the blonde’s breathing stop.</p>
<p>George guides the other down, further, and watches as the dark water slides over Dream’s eyes, his cheeks, his mouth and finally his nose.</p>
<p>And George holds him there for a beat.</p>
<p>Complete power.</p>
<p>It burns.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George lets go.</p>
<p>When Dream resurfaces it’s with a gasp, and he sits up, turning to face George properly. George reaches to brush the water away from his eyes before running his hand back to settle in soft hair. His eyes flick open to look at George. There’s no question in them, no confusion. His pupils are wide and round in the darkness.</p>
<p>There’s the unmistakable fire of lust in them, and George becomes acutely aware of their respective positions. He could so easily tighten his grip, drag the other to right where he wants him, and Dream would follow without complaint.</p>
<p>He doesn’t. Instead, he smooths the other’s hair back, gets the excess water out.</p>
<p>His hand ends on Dream’s shoulder, just as it started.</p>
<p>“It’s getting late,” George whispers hoarsely into the night.</p>
<p>
  <i>Coward.</i>
</p>
<p>Dream’s eyes flicker up to the stars and moon. Something dims in them, a bit.</p>
<p>The light is back when his eyes settle on George again.</p>
<p>On tired, relaxed legs, Dream stands. At his full height, he once again towers over George. Their lantern has dimmed in the time they’ve been out, but it’s still bright enough to keep the monsters at bay. Still bright enough to cast a golden outline around Dream from where it sits behind him. Bright enough to set him alight and remind George that Dream isn’t just beautiful, he’s art. He’s the result of hours of perfect craftsmanship by a loving, gentle hand.</p>
<p>Together, they get out of the water, and the breeze sweeping through is cold, sending a shiver down his spine.</p>
<p>Looking at their stuff, it occurs to them. “We didn’t think this out, did we?” George asks.</p>
<p>A drop of water falls from his hair. Both of them are still soaking.</p>
<p>“No, George, I don’t think we did.”</p>
<p>Somehow, they manage to find enough garments to use as towels, and the night is filled with laughter as they walk back to camp, every undergarment left damp and bundled into their bags. Their arms brush as they walk and their shoulders bump often. Their fingers touch and Dream tangles them together.</p>
<p>George feels safe.</p>
<p>When they get back to camp, Dream with his mask securely in place, they luckily don’t run into anyone.</p>
<p>George knows that tomorrow he’s going to have to talk to King Technoblade about making and using the potions. Thinking about it sends a current of anxiety through him, but he pushes the thoughts away. Dream’s hand doesn’t leave his as they enter the tent, only when they pull off their armor and overclothes. Their weapons are placed neatly in their spots after they grab clean underclothes. When George finally lays down in his cot, Dream across the room, he loathes the distance.</p>
<p>Yet, slipping into the memories of the day, the evening, the river, the skin, he can forget about the distance.</p>
<p>George doesn’t enjoy war.</p>
<p>He doesn’t like the bloodshed and violence and pompous flaunting of power.</p>
<p>But George is selfish. He knows this well.</p>
<p>So maybe, if it brings Dream back to him?</p>
<p>It’ll be worth it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun rises on another day. The only trace of the late night is the way George is slower to wake at the morning horn call. He’s just a bit afraid that things will somehow be tense between them after last night.</p>
<p>It’s the opposite, actually.</p>
<p>Dream is brighter as they leave for breakfast together. He’s calmer, relaxed in a way George hasn’t seen him since- since before the End, if he really thinks about it. It instantly makes him relax.</p>
<p>He’s honestly expecting Sapnap to comment on it as they sit down to eat, but the other is oddly silent. It gets swept away by Quackity, sending a laughing remark Dream’s way. “Someone’s more relaxed,” he calls, jokingly. “Who’s the lucky person?”</p>
<p>George almost chokes, but Dream just laughs along with everyone else. He can’t help but join.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s later that day that the time to speak to the King has come. He scheduled it in advance, and thankfully Techno seemed fairly open to the conversation, in his trademark awkward way.</p>
<p>It’s during sparring, so Dream is busy teaching some of the younger recruits. Typically, he helps, but Dream is more than capable of teaching an entire army on his own. He’s easily able to handle their little section without George.</p>
<p>When he enters Techno’s tent, he sweeps himself into a deep bow. Respect was something drilled into his bones since he was a child, and even after years of traveling with Dream, it was a habit he never quite broke.</p>
<p>“Hi, George,” He greets. When George doesn’t immediately rise, the King balks. “There’s uh, no need for that. You said you wanted to tell me about an idea you had for the war?”</p>
<p>With a deep breath, he begins. “So, I’ve been thinking. While Dream and I were in the Nether, we found the origins of brewing. I found a few abandoned manuscripts on the topic, actually, and I think they could help.”</p>
<p>Techno gives him an appraising look that he can’t quite decipher. “Go on.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your Majesty, I’m fairly certain the L’Manburgians have been using strength and invisibility potions to attack us and steal our supplies.”</p>
<p>“Hmm, yes. I’ve assumed somethin’ along the lines of that.” A beat passes. “L’Manburg and their brewin’,” he mutters under his breath. “Is that all?”</p>
<p>George blinks. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t waste your time personally with something so trivial. I came to offer my abilities as a cleric and brewer. You see, most potions require nether wart to brew, something I only have a limited supply of from the Nether, but there’s one potion we could use that doesn’t need it-”</p>
<p>Realization dawns on the King’s face, and he cuts him off. “George, I apologize for not tellin’ you and Dream sooner. I forgot that the two of you have been away from society for a few years, but to get straight to the point, potions other than healin’ potions have been made illegal.”</p>
<p>It takes him a moment to process what he heard.</p>
<p>“Illegal, sir?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Obviously, you aren’t in trouble, General. You had no way of knowin’.”</p>
<p>“O-oh.”</p>
<p>He didn’t know what to say.</p>
<p>Illegal? Why would potions be <i>illegal?</i></p>
<p>“They’re actually the illegal substances L’Manburg was bein’ charged with producin’, General. I appreciate the attempt to help, and all of the work you and Dream have done, but I’m going to ask that now that you know potions are illegal, you refrain from brewin’ anything other than healin’ potions.”</p>
<p>George nods his head dumbly, before asking, “King Technoblade, if I may be so bold, why are potions illegal? They can be extremely helpful when used correctly.”</p>
<p>“That’s just it, isn’t it? Potions are tools, George, and in the wrong hands as they so often are, they’re dangerous enough to wipe an entire city. Even a city as well protected as Susea isn’t safe if just anybody can use potions.”</p>
<p>George processes, and goodbyes pass in a blur.</p>
<p>They’re fighting a war over the use of potions?</p>
<p>Potions, which saved his and Dream’s lives countless times?</p>
<p>All because Techno is afraid that a city like L’Manburg with a large netherwart farm could overthrow him.</p>
<p>Truly, George <i>hates</i> cowards who hold power.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream is giving the lower ranking recruits a break. They’ve been doing extremely well under his tutelage, and he’s fairly certain they’ll be the best squadron of the army at the rate they’re going at.</p>
<p>He’s sipping water out of a glass bottle when he hears it.</p>
<p>“So Dream fights Tommy most battles?” It’s the youngest in his squad talking. He’s a bright kid, probably a year or so younger than L’Manburg’s prized fighter. It makes Dream sad for reasons he doesn’t like to think about.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Dream’s better though. I think it’s a matter of keeping Tommy busy. I’m not sure,” the boy’s closest friend, a girl a few years older than him says. “Ya know, Tommy’s pretty interesting. I hear he collects ancient discs.”</p>
<p>“What are those?”</p>
<p>“I’m not really sure, but my father was a historian. He talks about Tommy’s collection all the time. Before the war he tried to get them for the Susea Natural History Society, but apparently Tommy is super attached to them. Wouldn’t give them up for anything.”</p>
<p>“Why would you care so much about a stupid disc?”</p>
<p>“I guess they’re rare. I’m not really sure though. I’d much rather have a mansion.”</p>
<p>Dream stops listening as the conversation goes on to a different topic.</p>
<p>
  <i>So Tommy has a weakness for his discs, huh?</i>
</p>
<p>He smirks.</p>
<p>Dream’s going to win this war for Traedor.</p>
<p>He’s going to crush Tommy into the ground.</p>
<p>The sun beats down around him. The earth thrums under his feet.</p>
<p>A god against a man.</p>
<p>A war.</p>
<p>A disc.</p>
<p>To Dream, it’s all beginning to sound <i>fun.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!!</p>
<p>Just an additional little note about the structure of the army! It's not super important but I've based it off of a Roman Imperial Legion, with the same basic structure. I have done some hand-wavey things to make it a lot more intelligible to people who don't want to try and understand an entire ancient military structure, and also so that it works better for the way the story is set up. Generally, though it goes:<br/>1) Legate (In this case the King), 2) Tribune, 3) Prefect, 4) (This is where things get hand-wavy) 10 generals (to control the ten squadrons of the army) 5) 60 lieutenants (six per squadron)<br/>I hope that sort of helps! It shouldn't be too important overall but yeah!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Sweeping Edge of Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Hear those bells ring deep in the soul<br/>Chiming away for a moment<br/>Feel your breath course frankly below<br/>See life as a worthy opponent</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all!!!! I'm back for chapter four, sorry it's a bit late in the day, but it's okay because it's here and that's what matters. I wanted to actually put this out earlier, but my week's been really busy. With holiday break upon me now though I should have the free time to maybe, maybe get some extra content out early~<br/>That said!!! First I wanted to thank all of you for your absolutely lovely, wonderful comments!!!! They make my day and give me the motivation to poor my entire heart and soul into these chapters, so they're super-duper appreciated &lt;3<br/>Second! This chapter is a bit shorter but I felt like it worked better for the overall story arc, aka why the chap count went up from 11 to 12 (chap five is still gonna be super long so dw your pretty little heads). Expect the chapter count to go up a few more times most likely. Anyways though, this chapter was a lot of fun to write! For those of you who seemed to like the fight scenes, I hope you specifically enjoy this chapter<br/>And to the rest of you lovely people reading this? I hope you <i>all</i> love this chapter!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream finishes training before approaching the two young fighters. They’re brushing sweat off of their foreheads and sipping water, quiet as they catch their breath. When they see him walking up, they snap into attention, clearly nervous.</p>
<p>“At ease,” he calls, doing his best to keep his voice amiable. He’s rusty when it comes to talking to people, but he’s always been good at talking to kids. While the two standing in front of him weren’t kids, per se, they are young and unsure, and it makes him go into big brother mode. “Good job today, both of you. What’re your names?”</p>
<p>Dream’s question catches them off guard. The younger looks star struck, frozen and intimidated. The older, after a moment of open-mouthed stuttering, finally speaks. “I-I’m Desiree Joanes, and this- this is Kennedy Ellis. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance!” She says, stiff as a board and practically still at attention. The only thing missing is the patented hands behind her back. Kennedy’s hands still are frozen there.</p>
<p>Internally, he laughs. Dream knows that he cuts an imposing figure, standing taller than these two by half a foot at least, backlit by the sun, his mask sterile and impersonal. To minimize it, he plops down in the grass, gracelessly, giving them his best disarming smile. “Well, Desiree, Kennedy, take a seat because I wanted to ask you something before you leave.”</p>
<p>The two hesitantly sit. Kennedy has finally snapped out of it and seems to be warring with himself behind his eyes, resolutely looking anywhere except Dream’s masked face.</p>
<p>“During our break, I overheard you two talking about something. Feel free to not answer if you aren’t comfortable or feel like you can’t— I’m not asking you this as your General but as someone just trying to gather information. Understand?”</p>
<p>They both nod their heads.</p>
<p>“Cool,” Dream says, smiling again. “I heard you talking about Tommy having some, ah- discs? Is that what you called them?”</p>
<p>“Y-yes, General,” Desiree replies, while Kennedy just nods, pink dusting his cheeks.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me about them?”</p>
<p>And so, Desiree does. Apparently, Tommy has a collection of ancient discs. They’re extremely precious to the warrior, on display in his home. Desiree’s father has seen them before, in fact. Two of them are considered to be even more precious than the others, but they were relatively unguarded. The only drawback is that Tommy lives with others and that would make breaking in a bit more difficult. Nothing Dream can’t handle.</p>
<p>“That’s going to be extremely useful. Thank you, Desiree, Kennedy.” He considers getting up and leaving it at that, but at the last second he stops. “I want you two to know that if you ever need anything, whether that’s an answer to a silly question or protection on the field, you can come to me. As a General yes, but also as a friend.” Dream stands and extends his hands to the two teenagers to help them up, who both seem a bit more relaxed. Desiree is smiling at him, and Kennedy has lost the nervous crease in his forehead. As they grab his hands and he pulls them up, it occurs to him that Desiree is maybe three years younger than him. He thinks Kennedy is two years younger than that.</p>
<p>It was about five years ago when Dream’s entire village was slaughtered and he started hunting the Ender Dragon. He was alone for a while, then, and it was terrible.</p>
<p>Dream vows, not for the first time, to not let these children be miserable in their own lives, to not let them die.</p>
<p>Not like the boy from the Nether.</p>
<p>He brushes the thought away, that ugly reminder of his biggest failure— second only to failing to save his own village. Instead, he ruffles Kennedy’s hair as he turns to walk away. “Keep up the hard work, you two.”</p>
<p>As he leaves, he rolls his shoulders. This war is actually getting interesting. Finally, something to do outside of training and fighting.</p>
<p>He’s going to steal Tommy’s discs and dangle them over his head like a trophy.</p>
<p>Dream is going to watch Tommy break, even if the other is about four years younger than him.</p>
<p>Five years ago, Dream made a choice, far weightier than whether or not to fight in a war.</p>
<p>Tommy has made his choices too.</p>
<p>And that’s not Dream’s problem.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George is in the tent, processing, when Dream finally gets back from training. He wants to tell Dream. He’s <i>going</i> to tell Dream. But not right now.</p>
<p>He’s not sure he has the right words to express just how baffling, how shocking it is to hear that potions are illegal.</p>
<p>“Hey, George,” Dream calls as he enters and sets the stone axe he uses at practice away, under his cot. He sounds excited about something, pleased and energetic. It’s a tone that means trouble and adventure and it’s so intoxicating that it pulls George directly out of his head.</p>
<p>“Hey, Dream,” George replies from the place that he’s sprawled across his cot. “How was practice?”</p>
<p>When Dream turns around, he’s beaming. The mask is pulled off to reveal the taller’s sharp cheeks and round eyes, crinkling into a mischievous smile that tastes like alcohol to George. Dream makes his way over to George’s cot and lifts his legs to make room for him. “It was good! Everyone is doing so well, honestly. We’re doing a good job.”</p>
<p>The smile Dream sends his way, the way his hands idly paw at his shins, the way his eyes light up when looking at George— it all sends sparks skittering down his spine and across his skin.</p>
<p>“I’m glad,” he says, grinning.</p>
<p>George is content.</p>
<p>“How’d your talk with Techno go?” the taller asks.</p>
<p>He hums.</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you about it later.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They end up sparring, since George missed practice. After years of it, George has grown accustomed to daily sword practice of some sort, whether it was early morning sparring with Dream on the hunt, casual mid-day fights in the armory of their mansion, or daily training with the recruits. To miss a day would leave him feeling off.</p>
<p>That’s how they end up in the makeshift practice ring, dummies pushed to the sides and out of the way, holding wooden weapons of their choice. They have a few other items outside the ring, but George has a tried and true long sword, Dream a wooden axe. They’ve found that, when sparring each other, shields are more of a nuisance than a help.</p>
<p>“Ready?” Dream calls, leaning casually back against the wooden fence that cuts the ring off from the world around them. His tone is jovial at first glance, but if you know what to listen for— and George knows— you can hear a hint of predatory focus underlying it. </p>
<p>George centers his weight on the balls of his feet, knees bent and body connected. He feels the way his energy flows from his head to his chest, from his fingers up his arms and from his feet up his legs.</p>
<p>He will never be as good of a fighter as Dream.</p>
<p>This, he knows.</p>
<p>He will never match the way Dream moves, the way Dream bounds across the earth without even touching the ground. He will never manage to weave and duck out of the way of unseen attacks as if the gods warned him beforehand.</p>
<p>He will never be Dream, and George smiles for it.</p>
<p>He doesn’t need to be Dream to win.</p>
<p>To win, he has to be George.</p>
<p>Energy flows through him, clearer than ice cold air on a frosty morning.</p>
<p>“Born ready.”</p>
<p>Dream’s mask glints in the sun, his grin just visible under its smooth edge.</p>
<p>He takes a step to his right. Dream mirrors him.</p>
<p>George can feel every curve of the earth under his feet, can practically picture the way Dream’s muscles are moving under his skin and clothes as they circle each other.</p>
<p>He knows Dream will make the first move.</p>
<p>So, George does instead.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think. Instead, he propels himself towards the other deftly, his sword slicing through the air. It startles Dream a bit. George can see it in the way his axe comes up straight, not arced. If Dream had seen it coming, he would’ve met the swing with a powerful strike from his axe. Even still, the axe blocks the swing easily. Dream shoves the axe away from his body, and George releases the pressure behind his sword, pulling back.</p>
<p>George takes a smart step back as Dream’s leg sweeps out, his boot barely missing the brunet’s stomach. With his backwards momentum, George falls into a somersault, putting more distance between them. Dream’s axe swings into the place where he was just standing.</p>
<p>He can feel the rush of air brush past his face. He grins.</p>
<p>In a breath he’s solidly back on his feet. Staying low to the ground, he sees Dream towering above him as his foot lands properly from the swing. Seeing an opportunity, George launches himself past Dream’s left side, opposite the way the taller’s momentum was carrying him. George pushes forward, up, free hand connecting hard against the coarse dirt of the ring. For a breath, Dream’s back is to him as the other turns.</p>
<p>With a harsh grin, George swings out, holding nothing back. The sword is enroute to connect full force with Dream’s lower hip, blunt edge ready to leave a nasty bruise.</p>
<p>The sword meets air, and George smiles. Dream’s back is a hair’s width away from the wooden edge of his blade and he’s falling, stomach down towards the ground. He lands heavily but before George can react, barely a second later, Dream’s rolled away and on his feet again. His axe is making a quick, deadly arc straight towards George’s head.</p>
<p>No hesitation.</p>
<p>It tastes <i>so good.</i></p>
<p>With a force George oft forgets he has, a speed and precision learned only after years of training with the best, he swings the sword up towards the left, quickly ducking right.</p>
<p>The force of the collision rakes down his arm, singing in his bones as the crack of wood meeting wood rings out around them. George’s momentum is carrying him down, and he’s falling, back first with his sword arm outstretched above him. It’s okay, because Dream’s momentum is carrying him forward, down towards the left.</p>
<p>Right towards his feet. His left leg raises as he falls.</p>
<p>An idea laces it’s way through George’s brain.</p>
<p>Without a second thought, he starts acting.</p>
<p>He arches his back as he falls, leaning into the momentum and throwing his hands behind his back, above his head. Landing on his hands as harshly as he does hurts, the handle of his sword digging into his palm. He ignores it.</p>
<p>His legs are already swinging up, straight towards Dream’s face.</p>
<p>George feels his right foot make contact, and briefly, he spares a thought to hope he didn’t actually just kick Dream in the face. He doesn’t think he did, but he can’t think about it too hard. His left leg carries his momentum through, and he rolls the rest of the way out of the back handspring. In a fluid motion, he’s standing once again.</p>
<p>Too bad it’s too late.</p>
<p>The axe’s edge sits solidly against his stomach.</p>
<p>Dream’s voice is barely a growl, all dark smiles and adrenaline. He’s close, George realizes, close enough that his words are breathed directly into George’s ear.</p>
<p>“Checkmate, baby.”</p>
<p>A full body shiver wracks across George’s frame as his vision re-expands, his focus leaves the singular target of Dream.</p>
<p>When his gaze sweeps around their surroundings, he finds a small crowd has gathered around the ring. Among the faces, he sees Sapnap, mouth just slightly agape, Quackity with wide-eyed glee, Karl covering his mouth with one hand, and King Techno, pensively standing in the back. George thinks he sees the slightest quirk of the other’s lips, just shy of a smile.</p>
<p>The shorter rolls his shoulders, settling his body again.</p>
<p>“Round two?”</p>
<p>A grin, dangerous and perfect.</p>
<p>“I was afraid you’d never ask.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream wins round two.</p>
<p>George wins round three.</p>
<p>Dream gets round four.</p>
<p>George gets five.</p>
<p>Six and seven go to Dream.</p>
<p>They’re preparing for round eight. The sun is slowly sinking into the horizon, and George knows that this is the last round they’ll fight.</p>
<p>Each fight has pushed on longer and longer than the last, each more absurd.</p>
<p>All of George’s nerves are on fire— he’s charged, manic.</p>
<p>
  <i>He will win this.</i>
</p>
<p>George grins at Dream, all teeth and electricity and tension.</p>
<p>He’s a spring, ready to uncoil.</p>
<p>It’s been far, far too long since they’ve sparred like this. The last time was near the beginning of their stay at the mansion.</p>
<p>George didn’t realize how much he missed it.</p>
<p>In the time they’d been fighting, the crowd they’d gathered had only grown. At some point around round 6, the king had left. Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity were all still there. They’d been joined by Bad and Skeppy, and somewhere in the crowd, George can make out other familiar faces from their squadron.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They make their ways to their respective sides.</p>
<p>“Ready?” Dream calls, body poised and graceful. Highlighted by the golden setting sun to his right, he looks deceptively soft, like silk and velvet smooth skin.</p>
<p>George knows that he is.</p>
<p>George also knows that he’s so much more.</p>
<p>He’s a predator; he’s deadly, harsh, and ruthless when it comes down to it. He does what it takes to survive. Dream’s a monster when it comes down to the line— a nightmare in a white mask. When he sets his sights on something, he will hunt it, stalk it like prey, and if Dream has targeted you? There’s no escaping him.</p>
<p>George is facing the monster in Dream, right now.</p>
<p>It’s exhilarating.</p>
<p>“Always.”</p>
<p>The words have barely left his lips when Dream is on him, axe sailing through the air towards him as sure as death itself. His sword knocks into the handle and he slips the blade under the curve of the axe head, thoroughly occupying the blade for a few extra seconds. He yanks towards him, throwing Dream’s balance just slightly off before ramming his left shoulder into Dream’s chest.</p>
<p>It allows him just enough time to slip past Dream into the middle of the ring, so he’s no longer cornered. As he moves, Dream’s foot hooks around his and he stumbles, just barely.</p>
<p>George didn’t come to play, though.</p>
<p>He knows Dream is swinging around with his axe before he even tenses. It’s going to come from the upper right. Instead of taking a step back to dodge, George is going to press forwards. He’s going to push Dream back, back, back, in a way he never lets himself in their ever passing days. He braces his sword low, the blunt edge of the blade digging into his gloved off-hand, and grits his teeth. The axe lands hard against his sword’s blade. Time freezes as they struggle for power. George watches the way Dream’s lips drag into a smirk, crinkling just short of a sneer as he applies more pressure. George wets his lips.</p>
<p>A moment of distraction.</p>
<p>In a flash, he slides the blade under the head of the axe, forcing Dream to lurch forward. George leans back to avoid the wooden axe that skips forward at his move. In Dream’s moment of misfortune, George wants to reach up and kick him backwards.</p>
<p>He knows Dream wouldn’t fall for that. Dream would just grab his leg and use it to throw him down.</p>
<p>Instead, George ducks and spins out the way of the now falling axe. It clips his shoulder, and a burning ache blooms and spreads, wonderfully painful. It floods his system with a new wave of adrenaline, and faster than Dream could blink, he’s sweeping his leg out and kicking the other solidly in the shin before he’s back on his feet, a step back but already pressing forwards once more.</p>
<p>Dream is swinging his axe again, and George meets the blow head on with his sword. The axe is just the slightest bit slower than George’s sword, so he’s the one leading the next parry. The axe blocks the strike and he retracts the sword quickly, swinging again.</p>
<p>George steps forward, pressing Dream back towards the corner. A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as the fence settles directly behind the taller.</p>
<p>He’s got him, he knows it.</p>
<p>And then Dream turns away and he <i>jumps.</i></p>
<p>It’s too fast for George to react. The two wooden slats across the fence serve as steps for the blonde, and before George knows it, Dream is pushing off, up into the air.</p>
<p>Like water, he arcs through the setting sun over George’s head. He lands crouched in the center of the ring, grinning maniacally.</p>
<p>“So we’re playing dirty now,” George asks fiercely, voice teeming with untapped energy.</p>
<p>Dream tilts his head at him, smile unnerving while paired with the mask and the long shadows. “We always have, Georgie.”</p>
<p>Dream charges.</p>
<p>George flings himself to the side, out of the corner.</p>
<p>The blonde is positively set, now. George needs to stop thinking.</p>
<p>Whatever smart plan he comes up with, the monster in the ring with him will have already thought of it and every other possibility.</p>
<p>George needs to stop thinking, and start flowing.</p>
<p>The first step of flowing is avoiding.</p>
<p>And that’s exactly what he does.</p>
<p>Dream swings at him with precision and force unparalleled from his right, and George ducks just in time for it to pass just over his head. Barely a second passes before another strike is coming down from above. George rolls out of the way of that swing.</p>
<p>When Dream is like this, he’s not reckless. Dream has never been reckless in a fight in his life. But he’s more single-minded than usual. Just like a battle axe swung ferociously will fly it’s course, Dream, when he’s like this, will continue on until he’s done. He will go until he hits a wall and he will restart and go again. He’s set, like the wick of a bomb burning down before an explosion.</p>
<p>He’s unstoppable.</p>
<p>So George just has to exist with that and work outside of it.</p>
<p>The next swing of the axe finds him dodging back a step. “Oh, George,” Dream sings, voice high and excited and terrifying.</p>
<p>It’s accentuated by the crack of Dream’s axe meeting George’s sword in a parry that gouges a chunk out of the side of the weapon. George grins.</p>
<p>Time is running out.</p>
<p>George doesn’t think.</p>
<p>Dream swings out with the axe and it’s barely an inch away from his stomach.</p>
<p>The momentum is taking the weapon left.</p>
<p>George slams his sword into the back of the axe as it swings past, pushing it further left and interrupting Dream’s rhythm. Pivoting the blade under the handle of the axe, he hooks it under the curved edge of the axe and yanks.</p>
<p>He feels something give, and he hopes it’s not the wooden sword breaking but rather the axe slipping from Dream’s grasp.</p>
<p>Dream catches on too quickly though, and soon enough the axe is being pulled back in, leaving George the choice of letting go or going with it.</p>
<p>George flows.</p>
<p>Dream was obviously expecting him to let go, but it doesn’t phase him. Instead, he swings the axe in a wide circle to pull it away from George. The shorter just uses the momentum to spin away from the other’s immediate reach.</p>
<p>When they face each other again, Dream barely spares a moment before he’s attacking again.</p>
<p>The axe swings down. George, logically, should dodge to either side.</p>
<p>Instead, he follows the motion of the axe and drops down, barely avoiding the weapon. He uses the angle and the moment of surprise to shoot up, and he stabs his sword forward, straight at Dream’s shoulder. The other hits the sword away with the axe but George is already moving his sword away with the motion. It once again puts Dream on defense instead of offence. This time though, George won’t let the other dance away.</p>
<p>George is the one dancing now, anyways.</p>
<p>They’re both tired, George probably more so than Dream, but it’s okay.</p>
<p>All George has to do is exist in the space next to Dream’s path of destruction until he finds an opening.</p>
<p>He launches a few more attacks of his own to uphold the illusion that he’s fully focused on fighting Dream in the moment. Then he falls on the defensive.</p>
<p>Dream makes a poor decision.</p>
<p>He’s just knocked George off-balance and his leg is swinging around in a powerful kick meant to knock him down or push him farther back.</p>
<p>George does neither. He moves a step back, braces, and takes the kick.</p>
<p>It’s painful, sure, but George has learned how to handle blasts of force and he keeps his footing, grabbing Dream’s leg and looping his sword under the other’s hamstring. He uses the leverage to knock Dream off his feet and Dream ends up on his stomach in the dirt.</p>
<p>Quickly, before the other can roll out or stand up, George plants one steady boot on Dream’s spine, pressing the tip of his sword into his top vertebrate.</p>
<p>Silence hangs heavy for one moment, one brief, eternal moment, and then they’re laughing.</p>
<p>George removes his weight from his best friend’s back and extends a hand down, grin bright and matching Dream’s.</p>
<p>When Dream stands he shifts his grip down to George’s wrist, holding his hand up in the air.</p>
<p>Everyone cheers, and George can’t stop grinning.</p>
<p>Things are okay again.</p>
<p>They’re finally, truly okay.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When they get back to their tent, Dream sets the practice axe under his cot and stretches his arms above his head. His muscles are gaining a familiar, tight stiffness that could be bad news if, in the next few days, a difficult fight rears its head. Dream’s not too worried about it, though. He’ll just have to remember to stretch.</p>
<p>Watching the way George flops down onto his cot, boneless and tired, makes Dream want to cuddle.</p>
<p>After all of the adrenaline left his system he felt guilty, knowing the various bruises he could feel forming on his own body due to their fight will be mirrored on George’s body. It always happens when they spar though. They don’t hold back, short of causing serious injury, because it’s better that way. It feels more base, more real. It’s why he and George are as good as they are.</p>
<p>Even still, Dream wants to cradle the other to his chest, just to prove to George that the fight is meaningless. That no matter what hurts the other, he’ll be there to patch up the wounds.</p>
<p>Dream weighs his options as he pulls off his mask. He could just let it go, play it safe and not ask for anything. It’s what he thought George wanted when all of this started. Now, with the way things have been unfolding, he’s not entirely sure where their lines lie. The only way to find out is to keep crossing lines— to cross them until there are none left or they find one line cut too deeply into the ground to cross.</p>
<p>So Dream crosses the line.</p>
<p>“C’mere,” he calls softly, and George turns his eyes towards him. He knows his expression is open, gentle. He watches as confusion melts out of beautiful brown eyes, the shorter’s expression shifting to mirror his own.</p>
<p>“M’ tired,” George says in reply. His boots aren’t even off.</p>
<p>Dream smiles fondly at the other, exhaustion wrapping him softly in a warm blanket of static. “Then get ready to sleep, idiot.” He pauses for a moment as he contemplates what to say next. “And make some room for me.”</p>
<p>Dream would have missed it had he looked away, but he was staring directly into George’s eyes, searching for his true feelings about the idea hidden in their depths. Something in George’s eyes soften, just the slightest bit, and they open up like George just unlocked his chest and pulled apart his ribs.</p>
<p>“Hey!” He says, offense quickly covering any hint of warmth that overtook his eyes moments ago. “You’re the idiot, here, not me.”</p>
<p>Dream smiles as he gets up and strips out of his sweaty clothes. He walks, shirtless, over to the water basin and washes his face. He feels the warmth of George’s gaze lingering on his back and he allows himself a little smile.</p>
<p>Today was a good day.</p>
<p>As, a bit later, he tucks George against his chest, feeling truly whole for the first time in a long time, he can’t help but be hopeful that good days like this become his normal.</p>
<p>Dream falls asleep comfortably, completely forgetting about George’s meeting with Technoblade, forgetting about the way his brown eyes danced in discomfort, the way he brushed off Dream’s question for another day.</p>
<p>Another less pleasant day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!! It was a lot of fun to write~ There were multiple times in which I dragged sheep over to judge as I physically walked through the fights to make sure they made sense. If you wanna talk to me about the fic or anything writing or mcyt related, my tumblr is @honkschnoo !! Plus I post chapter reminders there so you can find out if I post any extra stuff early!!! I love y'all sm and thanks for reading!! Comments and Kudos are appreciated beyond belief &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Shift in the Wind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Today of all days, see<br/>How the most dangerous thing is to love</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas Everyone!!!! <br/>I was discussing how much pain to put you all through while writing this chapter, and I decided to demonstrate to sheep what I was gonna do to you all by taking a shitty off brand sucker and slamming it across my counter top in order to show how I was going to break your hearts (&lt;3 Love you guys). The thing was, the sucker didn't shatter, and we both started laughing in shock a bit and she said "Your readers are rock hard" and i just<br/>I just looked at her for a bit<br/>Anyways<br/>Have fun with this one lads<br/>Also before I go, I'm announcing this now: It pains me greatly but I've gotta take a week off from posting so I can get ahead because some of these upcoming chapters are <i>long</i>, and also I'm applying to college and trying to keep up with my classes so! That's the tea right now &lt;3 Enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream wakes up blissfully. It takes him a moment to realize why he feels so warm, so safe, but when he does, he can’t help the way his heart flutters. It’s before the morning horn call, so George is still asleep blissfully in his arms. The sunlight is not yet permeating the heavy canvas of their tent, but in the glow of dawn slipping through the edges, George is beautiful. On the Hunt, Dream didn’t often wake up first, on the rare occasions they got to share a bed. Now, with the war regulating their sleep schedules to a more normal rhythm, he finally had the opportunity.</p>
<p>George’s back is pressed to his chest, head pillowed on Dream’s folded arm. Their legs tangle together near their ankles, and Dream is warm. He takes a deep breath and all he can smell is George, a scent so nostalgic it aches. Dream can’t quite remember when he started missing it, but he did, so desperately. He’s not sure he can go back to living without it.</p>
<p>He’s interrupted from his musing by George, shifting and letting out a small content sigh. His long eyelashes flutter against his porcelain skin, and slowly, he blinks his eyes open to reveal the sleepy, warm pools of brown that Dream loved.</p>
<p>That Dream loves.</p>
<p>When his eyes focus on Dream, his eyebrows pinch in confusion, before widening in what he assumes is remembering. Dream can’t help but smile at how cute the other is, twisted to look at Dream as he is. A moment passes before George is smiling, small and shy but overall pleased, and it warms Dream’s chest almost as much as holding the other close does.</p>
<p>George turns over properly so he’s facing Dream, mumbling a sleepy, “Morning.”</p>
<p>They’re close, almost face to face if not for the slight difference in where their heads are positioned. Dream looks down a bit at George, whose eyes are drifting shut again.</p>
<p>“Go back to sleep, baby. We’ve got some time until the horn call,” Dream whispers, and he knows that the love he feels for George is so heavily present in his voice that there’s no hiding it, but he’s too cozy to care.</p>
<p>George just makes a soft, sleepy noise and burrows into Dream’s chest. He can feel the soft puffs of the shorter’s breath against his neck, and he lets his eyes close.</p>
<p>He can almost never fall asleep once he wakes up, but he lets himself drift, love and warmth filling his chest.</p>
<p>When the wake up horn finally rings, he watches as George wakes up properly and blooms in the soft morning light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George wants to talk to Dream, tell him the ludicrous things Techno told him, but George can’t bring himself to do it. Dream seems so happy. George hasn’t seen him truly happy since the Hunt really, and he doesn’t want to ruin it. Not when Dream is smiling and laughing and genuine.</p>
<p>So he waits.</p>
<p>When that night they enter their tent tired and happy, George lets himself forget about everything wrong with what they’re doing. He lets himself forget about the death and the potions and L’Manburg and he lets himself simply exist in his happiness.</p>
<p>Dream takes his mask off to reveal his beautiful face. George is so glad he gets to see Dream like this, open and perfect.</p>
<p>They both silently get ready for sleep, and when George lays down leaving plenty of space for Dream, the taller joins him.</p>
<p>George, for the first time since the Hunt, lets himself exist in his happiness. He opens the boxes and lets his emotions out, lets his thoughts free and basks in the warmth that is Dream.</p>
<p>George lets himself forget, but he’s never been great at forgetting, good or bad.</p>
<p>So George lets himself exist in his happiness, knowing full well that he has all of the power in the world to ruin it, should he choose to do what’s right.</p>
<p>And oh, how he hates, how he despises his damned conscience.</p>
<p>George falls asleep, holding shut one single box. The box that will ruin it all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s late, a few days after they finally started sleeping together again, and Dream is just- elated. Even without anything else, without any kissing or any romantic ties, Dream feels like things are going right again. He can tell something is bugging George though, and he wants to help the other. So he launches his plan.</p>
<p>“Hey George, do you wanna go on a walk?” Dream asks, trying to keep any hint of excitement out of his voice. Earlier that day, he slipped away after training while George was washing to go find the perfect spot to relax away from everyone. When he found it, he hid a jug of wine and a blanket there.</p>
<p>He knows it’s going to be the perfect way to cheer George up. </p>
<p>It’s also in part a way to tell George about the discs as well. He’s not sure why he hasn’t told the other yet, it just… hasn’t come up. So he’s going to tell George tonight, and then George can help him, and they’ll be in it together, fully and in a way that’ll make the brunet want to be here. It’s a foolproof plan, in Dream’s opinion. He just has to get George to say yes to this late night escapade.</p>
<p>“O-oh, sure?” George asks rather than says, confusion evident in his voice. The sun is almost completely set, so Dream can understand the sentiment. He just smiles.</p>
<p>“Come on then,” he replies cheerily, slipping his mask on and grabbing George’s wrist to pull him out. As they walk out of the camp, no one sees them and no one stops them. Still, it’s only when they’re safely away that Dream reaches down and properly laces their fingers together. He’s feeling bold, especially with the way that the past few days have been going.</p>
<p>George snaps his head up, looking at Dream with wide eyes that seem so fond and amazed, and Dream melts at it. He smiles at George, and George smiles back, squeezing his hand.</p>
<p>They fit perfectly together, in Dream’s opinion.</p>
<p>They don’t talk as they walk; they don’t need to. The path they’re on is meandering and lightly worn, still a little rough at the edges but it’s pretty, far nicer than a lot of the paths they’ve walked before. Illuminated as it is by their lantern, everything glows and Dream loves it.</p>
<p>When they get close, the gentle sound of the lapping waves gets louder, and George looks over at him with wide, excited eyes.</p>
<p>It’s well known that L’Manburg is a large port city, sitting just inland of the Boradry Sea, specifically by Violet Bay, famous for its deep blue, almost purple waters. During the Hunt, they came through the area- Dream knew George wanted to stop to see it, but they didn’t get the chance. When Dream realized that their camp was nearby, he couldn’t help but think that it was absolutely necessary to bring George. Now was really the perfect time, too. It could help show George that this is where they should be.</p>
<p>“You aren’t serious,” George says, stopping in his tracks. His eyes are wide in understanding and excitement.</p>
<p>Dream fucking <i>beams</i>, unable to contain it. “I am, I am!” Idly, he realizes he’s bouncing on his toes, but he’s too excited to stop himself.</p>
<p>George looks towards the break in the trees, about 40 feet in front of them. Dream watches as the shorter starts to smile, and when George looks back at him, their eyes meet in a moment of glowing admiration and pure, unfiltered love.</p>
<p>At least, Dream knows that’s what’s filling his gaze. He hopes his head isn’t so clouded that he’s projecting onto George, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. To be here with him, with his precious, perfect George, is enough.</p>
<p>Dream breaks the moment of eye contact by grabbing George’s hand again, once again pulling him forward and towards the sounds of the coast. They run, and neither of them stumble on the slightly overgrown path as their laughter floats up and into the winds to be carried away to wherever sacred things go to rest.</p>
<p>When the trees part, they stop.</p>
<p>Spread in front of them is the gorgeous expanse of Violet Bay, highlighted by the pinks and oranges of the setting sun. The water in front of them is a smokey purple and a deep, luscious blue; beyond it slightly, the land curves back in and the rocky cliffs cut dark, picturesque silhouettes against the sunset.</p>
<p>Dream can’t look away from the fire of the sunset hallowing George, making him golden.</p>
<p>He can’t ignore it or push it away anymore.</p>
<p>Dream is so, so in love.</p>
<p>“Come on, Dream! And take your mask off,” George says, excited as he makes his way down the slope towards the beach. “There’s no one here but us.”</p>
<p>He takes a step forward, and as, on steady feet, he descends the hill just behind George, he feels himself falling. Falling so quickly, towards the all too familiar unknown, and he doesn’t even think about looking back up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George can barely believe Dream remembered this, his wish to go to Violet Bay. They had had to get out of the area quickly because of a prank they played on Duke Philza, and they didn’t have time to go without the risk of being caught. Dream had beaten himself up over costing George the trip for a week or so before finally moving on. They didn’t talk about it after that.</p>
<p>That was four years ago, at least.</p>
<p>And Dream remembered.</p>
<p>When the two reach the bottom of the hill, they tangle their fingers together and start walking. George can’t see the sunset, but he can’t look away from vibrant blue breathing life into the vast, restless ocean. The color blossoms from somewhere deep in the bay and spreads through the waves like blood from a wound being washed away in water.</p>
<p>They walk together and conversation flows between them like a light breeze. Their words are meaningless in the heaviest way.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you remembered,” George says as he stares out over the water. The cool sea breeze brushes past them as he brushes an errant strand of hair out of his eyes.</p>
<p>He can feel Dream looking at him as they walk, hands swinging between them, sand giving way under their feet, but all George can do it stare out across the bay, mesmerized. “Of course I did, baby,” he replies, voice softening as the sun dips lower and lower on the horizon. “How could I forget?”</p>
<p>George leans into Dream’s shoulder, bumping against the taller. The point of contact is warm and safe, pushing George’s underlying worry to the back of his mind. Maybe tonight would be a good time to tell the other about the war.</p>
<p>Maybe Dream would actually listen to him.</p>
<p>The way Dream is holding his hand tightly, the way his warm, gentle voice forms the word ‘baby’, the way he still seems to care-</p>
<p>Maybe Dream will come home with him.</p>
<p>“I dunno,” George says, brushing the thought away for later in the evening. “I guess I just assumed you had better things to think about.” For now, George let himself exist in Dream’s whirlwind of a presence, the heat of his affection.</p>
<p>George hopes- thinks- that this warmth may be love.</p>
<p>For now, George will let himself love Dream, will let Dream love <i>him</i>, because he’s selfish. Because he’s afraid that if he messes up, he could lose everything again, all too fast.</p>
<p>Dream’s voice is low, almost dangerous- ablaze as he says, “You should know by now that all I ever think about is you.”</p>
<p>Their steps pause in sync, and George is pulled to face the other like he’s got his own gravity. The world around them is on fire with the nearly-set sun, and the sky is a deep, living blue above him, mirroring the deep, almost black of the ocean. It’s beautiful, but George can only look at the god in front of him, can only look at the way he shines in the dark, brighter than the moon and stars, as bright as the sun.</p>
<p>A flush rises on George’s cheeks. He almost instinctively stutters out something like <i>‘You can’t just say that!’</i> but he manages to hold it in, to collect himself. “I’m not so sure about that, Dream.”</p>
<p>The second it leaves his mouth, Dream’s face drops a bit. It was supposed to be a joke. It was supposed to sound teasing, to be sweet, but it came out all too serious. George forces a smile and squeezes Dream’s hand before turning back ahead of them. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”</p>
<p>They take a few steps, and Dream is silent. When George glances over, it’s to see the other, deep in thought and looking at his feet. His mask sits atop his head and it glitters in the light.</p>
<p>Eventually, conversation begins to flow again, just like it always does. For being able to speak so easily with each other though, they somehow manage to not talk about the most important things.</p>
<p>It’s hard, George thinks, because they’ve never had to talk about anything in the past to just know.</p>
<p>It’s that thought that settles it, for him. Tonight, George will ask Dream to leave the war with him.</p>
<p>They’ll talk about it, resolve it once and for all.</p>
<p>He looks at Dream, and their eyes meet. The blonde smiles gently at him and George trusts him with his life.</p>
<p>They keep walking, hands pressed together, bridging the 1,000 mile gap that grows ever slowly between them.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Amber liquid sloshes about in heavy glasses and loud clamor passes between the patrons of the tavern. Dream walks through the room ahead of George, his tall frame slipping easily through the tables. It’s not crowded per se, but the people around are rowdy and they take up a lot of space. The barkeep greets them with a bold smile. “Greetings! What brings you to our little town?”</p>
<p>The man, despite his bright smile and boisterous attitude, looks thin, like the town was hit by blight or a bad harvest over the summer months. Maybe drought- he and George haven’t been around this area in a while to know otherwise.</p>
<p>“We need a room for a few nights,” Dream replies, voice steady and controlled in the way he knows conveys power. The man’s smile holds but something in his eyes changes.</p>
<p>“Just one, lads?”</p>
<p>Dream glances over his shoulder to George who’s looking around the room with a critical eye- looking at the people who pose threats and any way out, need be.</p>
<p>He turns back to the barkeep.</p>
<p>“Just one.”</p>
<p>Emeralds exchange hands, and they’re led up stairs to the rooms above the tavern. The barkeep hands Dream a key to their room before scurrying away, obviously nervous around the masked man and his goggled companion.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be so intimidating, Dream,” George says with a laugh as he sets himself up at one of the two beds in the room. Dream snickers, pushing his mask off after closing the door and the drapes into the room.</p>
<p>“But Georgie,” he whines, laughter seeping into his voice, “It’s no fun when you don’t mess with people.”</p>
<p>George just laughs.</p>
<p>They spend their first full day in town gathering supplies, dried meats and bread and arrows. George gets new boots with stolen emeralds and laughs at Dream’s side. They tease each other and talk and live, feeling as free as ever.</p>
<p>They wake up on the second day happy and prepared. It’s spent in the town’s library, reading book after book after book, trying to find any information they can on the Nether.</p>
<p>That evening, they sit at a rickety old table in the tavern while they eat rather than taking it up to their room. A tankard of ale sits by both of them, and they each take careful, slow sips throughout their meals. It’s weak but not disgusting, and Dream has never been a huge fan of alcohol but the occasional glass helps soothe the restlessness of spending days at a time tied to one spot.</p>
<p>An unfamiliar face drags a chair up to their table, and plops down gracelessly. It’s a bulky, muscular woman with cropped hair and a scar on her cheekbone. Upon further inspection, Dream notes her as the blacksmith they’ve seen around town.</p>
<p>“What’re two adventurers like you doin’ snoopin’ through our library like it holds the secrets of the world?” She asks, words drawn out and rough. Her arms are pushed against the back of her chair, making her biceps look bigger than they are. She’s spread across the chair like she owns the entire tavern and everyone in it.</p>
<p>Dream recognizes intimidation when he sees it.</p>
<p>He doesn’t fall for it, doesn’t rise to the bait.</p>
<p>Casually and calmly he replies, “Maybe it does,” before taking another sip of his ale.</p>
<p>The woman snorts a laugh that sounds rather forced, adjusting her seating with the slightest amount of self-awareness.</p>
<p>George glances at her with a mildly bored expression, and Dream takes a moment to be proud of how far the other has come. When they first started traveling together, the slightest intimidating face would make the other anxious. Now, he just takes it in stride. “Why d’you even care?” He asks, accent as deliciously aloof as ever. He can see the blacksmith bristle.</p>
<p>“‘Cause it’s my town to protect, an’ I see an adventurer wanderin’ in with his face covered like a criminal, an’ I thinks to myself, what would a bastard like him want with somewhere like here?” Her voice is defensive, her accent coming thicker as she loses a bit of her composure.</p>
<p>For as much as Dream enjoys riling people up, his heart opens a bit at the fact that she’s the town’s protector. It’s a big job, and a lot of pressure. Making one mistake can cost everything.</p>
<p>Dream knows this too well.</p>
<p>“We’re just looking for information, and once we get through the library, we’ll be out of your hair,” Dream remarks, voice just a bit softer.</p>
<p>He feels George’s eye flick to him in understanding. He can tell Dream wants to go soft on this one, and for that unspoken communication, Dream is so, so thankful. How Dream got so lucky to travel with someone so perfect, he’s unsure. He thanks the stars every night as he watches over the other while he sleeps.</p>
<p>“Well, what’re you lookin’ for? Maybe I can tell you that we don’t have it so you can move on.”</p>
<p>Dream takes a calculated risk.</p>
<p>“Information on the Nether.”</p>
<p>A moment of silence passes between them all as both the woman and George stare at him, the latter far subtler than the former. After a moment, George looks over at the woman like this is just normal for them- rolling with him through every turn.</p>
<p>The woman barks out a surprised laugh, and it grows for a few seconds. It’s only when she realizes that neither he nor George are laughing that she stops.</p>
<p>“You’re serious?” Her voice is incredulous.</p>
<p>Something about it slips under Dream’s skin.</p>
<p>“Deadly,” Dream replies, keeping his tone neutral.</p>
<p>She starts laughing again, managing, “The Nether?” in between her guffaws.</p>
<p>When she finally calms down, she asks, “What do two adventurers need with a child’s tale?”</p>
<p>Dream watches as George takes a sip of ale before looking at her through his goggles. “We’re going, of course,” he says, voice so dismissively casual that Dream can barely contain a laugh.</p>
<p>“You can’t be serious.”</p>
<p>“Deadly,” Dream and George repeat in unison.</p>
<p>A beat passes, and her eyes dart between them, something almost mocking coming into them. Her posture relaxes into something more confident, like she’s about to finish them off in one blow. “What makes you think that, should the nether even exist, you twos could survive an hour there?” A shark’s grin adorns her face, and she preens in her seat like she’s already won.</p>
<p>Dream bristles a bit inside at the audacity.</p>
<p>He could level the town if he wanted.</p>
<p>“And you think you could?” He replies, keeping his tone steady and normal, just as it’s been this entire conversation.</p>
<p>“Hell no!” She barks, before leaning forward a bit. “But I sure as shit would do better than you two.”</p>
<p>“And why’s that?” Dream drawls, growl hidden just under his words.</p>
<p>She snorts. “How’s about this?” she gestures off, somewhere east of the tavern walls, “You two beat that there pillager outpost, and maybe I’ll believe a word you say.”</p>
<p>George lets out a huff, clearly unaffected.</p>
<p>But Dream—</p>
<p>He could never turn down a challenge.</p>
<p>“Alright,” he says with a wolfish grin. “How about you pay us when we’re done while you’re at it?”</p>
<p>Her gaze turns hard at his words, her grin turning to a sneer. “Bring me back a banner from their base an’ we’ve got ourselves a deal.”</p>
<p>And really, Dream never stood a chance against a challenge to his pride. He’ll show the world that he’s here, and he’s going to save them from the Dragon.</p>
<p>A challenge is just one step of the way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later that night in their room, George looks at Dream from his spot on his bed. He sighs. Even in the faded, dusty light of the inn, Dream looks ethereal.</p>
<p>Looking ethereal doesn’t save you from being an idiot, apparently.</p>
<p>“Why did you make that deal?” he asks the other, interrupting his axe sharpening. The scuffed iron glints in the low light.</p>
<p>Dream looks at him, mask off and set aside, and George feels like his eyes, open and earnest as they are, are burning him alive.</p>
<p>“Because I can’t just let someone insult us like that,” Dream replies idly, going back to his work.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you can actually.”</p>
<p>Dream snorts at that. “Come on Georgie,” he calls lowly, voice just on the edge of dangerous, and the name worms it’s way into George’s chest in a way that makes him want to squirm, or maybe to kiss the other. He isn’t thinking about it. “It’ll be fun, at least.”</p>
<p>George rolls his eyes at Dream’s definition of fun. “Sure, Dream.”</p>
<p>“We’ll get nice pay for it too, I’m sure,” Dream says, voice barely hiding his amusement.</p>
<p>George rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna get some sleep. You don’t need to stay up, by the way. We’re safe here.”</p>
<p>He can feel Dream’s eyes on him as he rolls over, can hear it in the way his movements pause. “Sure thing, George. Get some sleep.”</p>
<p>George drifts off, knowing that Dream won’t be sleeping until the early hours of the morning. As sleep takes him, he briefly asks the stars to keep Dream company, in the way he always says they do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream lets out a loud, joyous laugh as a crossbow bolt whizzes past his ear. He swings his axe down on the humanoid in front of him, severing the thing’s arm. It disintegrates into monster dust, the bow falling heavily to ground. George takes the pillager out ahead of him. It’s the last one.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep, heaving breath, and the aches and pains of the hard fight seep into his consciousness. He watches as George does the same. The other is beautiful like this, dishevelled and breathing heavily.</p>
<p>He’d be even more beautiful in Dream’s arms, with kiss-swollen lips.</p>
<p>The grin George shoots his way is still enough to make him swoon.</p>
<p>“Hell yeah, George! Hell fucking yeah!”</p>
<p>George laughs, glee captured in one perfect sound, and Dream lives for it.</p>
<p>In the chests, they find a brand new crossbow that George straps to his back and a bundle of bolts along with some bread and a few heavy clumps of iron.</p>
<p>“I <i>told</i> you it’d be fun.” Dream wraps an arm around George’s shoulder, and the shorter leans into his side heavily, fully. His body is relaxed and one hand comes up to tangle with Dream’s.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” he says, fake annoyance clouding his voice yet not managing to block out the rush of adrenaline and excitement coursing through him. “It was fun, Dream, now stop rubbing it in that you’re always right.” His voice is happy, and Dream grins.</p>
<p>Dream reaches over the edge of the wooden tower and snags two banners off of the railing. Turning to George, he carefully, almost reverently, wraps one around the other’s shoulders. “Today, baby?” he calls, voice mischief and danger and joy, “We begin showing the world<i> who we are</i>.”</p>
<p>George meets his eyes and grins.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The town library didn’t yield anything, in the end. The stop was worth it though, if not to see the way George looked, devilish grin complimenting the Pillager banner wrapped around his shoulders, then to see the look of shock, of recognition, of <i>awe</i> in the townspeople’s eyes as they presented the extra banner to the blacksmith with a flourish.</p>
<p>As they walk away from the town, banner hanging proudly from George’s shoulders like a cape, Dream knows.</p>
<p>He may not be able to say no to a challenge, but no challenge will <i>ever</i> best him.</p>
<p>Of that? Dream is sure.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Eventually, they come to a curve in the beach, and Dream pulls them to a stop. This is where he hid the blanket and wine earlier, in the entrance to a cave in the now steep cliff side.</p>
<p>“Wait here,” he says, voice filled with soft giddiness. When he comes back holding the items, he watches as George, backlit by the fiery red of the sunset and purple of the sky, smiles at him.</p>
<p>Tonight, he asks George to trust him, to get Tommy’s discs with him and fight together, like they always did. Every challenge that Dream has risen to, George has been right there with him. Tommy’s discs should be no different.</p>
<p>The warmth in George’s eyes gives Dream hope. They’re going to fight this war and win it, together.</p>
<p>Dream is sure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George watches as Dream carries over a jug and a blanket, and George’s heart glows for the other man.</p>
<p>Not only did he remember that George wanted to come here, he pulls this.</p>
<p>If he needed any proof that tonight was the night to tell him? This has got to be it.</p>
<p>Wrapped within the warm summer night air, George is going to ask Dream to trust him. He’s going to tell the other what’s been bothering him, he’s going to be honest. He trusts Dream so fully— that includes trusting Dream with his thoughts, dangerous or not.</p>
<p>George trusts that Dream will listen to him, will take his words with the respect of years of friendship, and it will lead them out of this horrid war. It’ll lead them somewhere safe.</p>
<p>George can only hope.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After they get settled and Dream realizes he forgot to bring cups, after they begin sharing the jug with gentle laughs, after the stars have fully come out on the crisp, clear night, Dream finally says, “I’ve got something I wanted to talk to you about.”</p>
<p>It’s only the surprise that has him blurting out, “Oh, I actually wanted to talk to you about something tonight too.”</p>
<p>Dream’s eyes widen a bit, but then he shakes his head with a fond smile. “You first then.”</p>
<p>At that, George’s eyes widen too. “No, you’re the one who brought it up so obviously you should go first.”</p>
<p>Dream knocks their shoulders together lightly, gentle companionship evident in his every movement. “What I wanted to say actually wasn’t that important, it can wait till after.”</p>
<p>“If it’s unimportant shouldn't it be said first so it’s out of the way?” George asks, looking to Dream.</p>
<p>The blond just smiles fondly and rolls his eyes. “Come on George,” he says, drawing out his syllables. “Just tell me already.”</p>
<p>A wave of anxiety has settled over his chest like a sheet of ice, but George pushes through it.</p>
<p>“When- when I was talking to King Techno the other day, we were talking about my plan to brew potions for the army to, well, weaken L’Manburg and combat their use of potions.”</p>
<p>Dream looks at him, and concern seeps into his eyes.</p>
<p>George continues.</p>
<p>“He told me no.”</p>
<p>His friend’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion and surprise. “Why?”</p>
<p>He sighs. “Well, it’s because—” George cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, looking back out at the bay. “They made brewing illegal. Everything except for healing potions.” At Dream’s silence, he continues, anxious. “To make it worse, that’s why this war is being fought. Over a corrupt law written by a coward.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A moment of silence passes, only the noise of the waves picking up speed in their movements permeates the air.</p>
<p>He looks over at Dream, who’s staring at him in confusion. “That’s not right, George.”</p>
<p>The blunt words confuse him. The next breeze through sends a shiver down his spine.</p>
<p>“I know, it doesn’t make sense to make potions illegal—”</p>
<p>Dream cuts him off, gaze torn away from him and out to the now choppy sea. “No, no. I mean what you said about the war. We’re fighting because L’Manburg declared independence without any right to do so. We’re fighting because they attacked the crown.”</p>
<p>The more he speaks, the less confused he sounds, the more set his tone is.</p>
<p>“Dream, L’Manburg started brewing potions and when the crown found out they tried to force them to stop. L’Manburg is just fighting against a stupid law in the only way they can,” George tries. All of the warmth from the evening has been sapped away. The sun is completely hidden past the horizon, and the stars are slowly being covered by clouds. The stars, turning their eyes away as they always have.</p>
<p>“If they had a problem with one law they should’ve just taken it up with that one law, not started a war over it,” Dream replies, tone increasingly incredulous.</p>
<p>This is new. Dream’s never talked to him like this. George’s heard him talk like this to other people, but he and Dream? They never argued. Ever.</p>
<p>George’s limbs feel numb, but anger simmers somewhere deep in his core. Why is Dream not listening to him? “The crown gave them no choice, they tried to protest the law but they were met by a violent shutdown.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The way Dream’s expression twists as George speaks makes the anxiety race through his system like adrenaline. He feels all too much and nothing at once.</p>
<p>“Careful there George,” Dream says, voice heated, “You sound like a sympathizer.” </p>
<p>George feels the air get punched from his lungs. A fire sparks deep in his chest, flames bolstered by all too quick by the way his breathing picks up. The extra oxygen sends smoke straight to his head, and everything feels clouded, hazy.</p>
<p>“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” George asks, voice loud in the windy air.</p>
<p>Dream’s eyes are hard, his jaw clenched and brows creased.</p>
<p>“I’m just saying that you sound awfully supportive of the people we’re fighting, the people <i>King</i> Techno has been leading us against all this time.”</p>
<p>The tone strikes George, blindsiding him, fueling the anger, the fire building rapidly in his chest.</p>
<p>“<i>Careful</i> there Dream,” he says, voice scathing, “You sound like a bootlicker.”</p>
<p>Dream’s eyes widen in clear shock. Outrage, almost. A chill raises goosebumps along George’s skin in the most unpleasant way. “A bootlicker? Really George?” He barks, laughter harsh behind his words. “I’d rather be a fucking <i>bootlicker</i> than a traitor, and it sounds a lot like you’re walking in that direction right now.”</p>
<p>What?</p>
<p>The situation crashes into him like the waves crashing into the shore.</p>
<p>They rise too high and douse the flames completely.</p>
<p>“What?” is all he can manage to say.</p>
<p>It hurts, in a way no physical wound has ever ached. The only thing that has hurt him worse was the fear, acrid and hollowing, that Dream wouldn’t recover from a fight, wouldn’t survive to see the next day.</p>
<p>It feels like Dream just shattered him with the flat of his axe.</p>
<p>He knows his eyes are wide in pain but George can’t even bring himself to mask the emotions swimming rampant across his face. He’s not used to masking himself around Dream.</p>
<p>Not like the other does to him.</p>
<p>All George can do is stare Dream. He watches as the same realization comes crashing into him, as the waves wash the raging fire away and usher out the smoke.</p>
<p>They stare at each other, wide eyed and burnt raw.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry,” Dream says, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe eons later.</p>
<p>“I- I,” George starts. “A traitor?” He manages. His chest aches where the fire was, his emotions the gnarled mess of a weeping, bloody wound. “You think I’d go that low?” It’s barely a whisper. It’s chased away on the breeze.</p>
<p>He looks out at the bay. Storm clouds hover in the distance.</p>
<p>“George, no, of course not- I,” Dream pauses. His face is open and he looks lost, searching for the right words. “I didn’t mean that, at all. It got away from me, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>The ocean waves lap at the shore gently, beautiful in the rising wind.</p>
<p>Slowly, reality starts to make sense again.</p>
<p>“I- I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth. It wasn’t all you,” he manages. No matter how much he means them, they feel hollow as the leave his lips.</p>
<p>He blinks his eyes, letting them refocus on Dream. He looks like he was just taken into the ocean and drowned, without the wet of the water. He looks haggard, tired beyond belief.</p>
<p>“Enough of it was me that it doesn’t matter. For what it’s worth, I forgive you.” The wind ruffles Dream’s hair, and he looks a thousand years old. A god thats seen too much. “Of course I do.”</p>
<p>He lets himself believe Dream</p>
<p>Gently, George leans against Dream’s side, soaking in the warmth. Dream leans back into him immediately.</p>
<p>“I forgive you too,” he whispers, blinking tears out of his eyes, resting his head on the blond’s shoulder. The anxiety slowly washes out of his system the rest of the way, leaving him feeling tired and wasted, buzzing with excess energy but no will to get rid of it.</p>
<p>A minute passes as the storm creeps ever closer, waves getting bigger in the distance.</p>
<p>“What did you want to say?” George asks quietly, voice hoarse for reasons he can’t truly identify.</p>
<p>“It’s nothing important, baby.” Somehow, the name stings in a way it typically doesn’t. It feels like salt water used to soothe a burn.</p>
<p>He doesn’t press. “Okay.” A moment passes. “I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>Dream nudges the top of his head with his nose and reaches up to lift George’s chin. His eyes are swirling oceans of emotions, his smile sad and confused and hurt and loving and hopeful.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to apologize anymore. I already said I forgive you.”</p>
<p>They’re so close, George can feel the ghost of Dream’s breath whisper across his cheek. He thinks he should feel something— excitement, love, joy, comfort, anything at the close proximity.</p>
<p>All George feels is hollowed out.</p>
<p>The tides receded and they took all he had to offer with them.</p>
<p>He pulls away, looking away from the hurt in Dream’s eyes. “It looks like it’s going to storm. We should get back, Dream.” He doesn’t meet the pair of eyes staring at him as he stands and brushes any sand off. George extends his hand to help Dream up, and when he’s standing, he doesn’t let go.</p>
<p>It’s all he has left to give.</p>
<p>They walk back, hand in hand, in silence.</p>
<p>There’s no conversation, no laughter.</p>
<p>The wind has already swept it all up and carried it away.</p>
<p>Away, away, to wherever it is that sacred things go to die.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When they get back to their tent, Dream and George don’t talk. Not after everything that just happened. How was he so wrong? Has he forgotten how to read George? Has George changed?</p>
<p>Has Dream?</p>
<p>He watches as George curls up on his cot, space left for Dream should he want it.</p>
<p>How could George just ask him to give up on this, to change his mind? It was no longer just a war Dream was fighting in- it’s <i>his</i> war, his fight with Tommy. George knows how important it is to him to see things through. Why would he ask that of Dream?</p>
<p>The scorned kiss sits in the front of his mind, next to the argument.</p>
<p>How was he <i>so wrong?</i></p>
<p>As he lays down to sleep, his own cot is cold underneath him.</p>
<p>He watches from across the room as George rolls over, away from him.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t fall asleep for a very, very long time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Things are just on the edge of tense between them the following morning, but if anyone notices, they don’t say anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They keep working together, and in a few days things are settling into the familiar, unpleasant rhythm they had at the beginning of the war. It's okay though. Everything is fixable.</p>
<p>And Dream has other things that he has to worry about now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The letter is slipped to him in the heat of battle. It’s by a waifish boy, Dream sees, wearing a L’Manburg uniform and a messenger bag.</p>
<p>When he opens it, it’s to see a flowing, neat script on thick parchment.</p>
<p>
  <i>Dream,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s my pleasure to finally be contacting you! I’m General Eret of the fifth squadron of the Army of L’Manburg. I’ve been hoping to speak to you for quite some time, regarding issues of… how to say— cause. To slip a letter to the King would be suicide. Besides, you seem far more competent than Techno. Nonetheless, I believe it would be beneficial to you and yours to meet me at the North Cliff tonight, past moon rise. I will be alone. You may bring others if you wish. All I ask is that you hear me out.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Best wishes in this bloody, grey war,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>General Eret</i>
</p>
<p>He reads it once, twice, and grins.</p>
<p>All thoughts of his fight with George leave as he throws himself into pulling every hint out of the letter in hopes of finding out what the General means.</p>
<p>After reading it over and over and over again, sat alone in their tent while George helps in the medical tents, in the dying light of the evening sunset, Dream thinks he understands.</p>
<p>Eret’s a traitor.</p>
<p><i>“I’d rather be a fucking </i>bootlicker<i> than a traitor.”</i></p>
<p>Why did he even say that?</p>
<p>Sometimes, there’s right and wrong, but they’re on the right side.</p>
<p>Sometimes, you do what you have to, and if that means being a traitor, it means being a traitor.</p>
<p>Dream pushes the thought away. He needs to focus on this letter, on what’s happening now.</p>
<p>He could go on his own, but it would be far, far wiser to bring others. He could easily protect whoever he brings if it’s a trap, but having backup could spare him a bad wound or two.</p>
<p>He’ll just have to wait till George is back to ask him.</p>
<p>In the meantime, maybe he can ask Sapnap, Karl and Quackity? The three spend quite a bit of time together, so finding one of them would probably lead to finding at least one of the others.</p>
<p>Dream stands from his cot and tucks the letter into his coat pocket, leaving the tent and entering the cooling evening air. The sky is cloudless and orange, casting the worn dirt paths in a golden light.</p>
<p>Sapnap’s tent is the closest and most spacious of the three’s. It’s barely a minute’s walk before he’s outside the tent. “Hey, Sapnap. You in there?”</p>
<p>There’s the sound of shuffling, and then the flap is pushed open.</p>
<p>“Dream, hey!” the other says cheerily, “What’s up dude?”</p>
<p>Dream thinks of the letter in his pocket, of how he should probably go to the king with it instead of his highest General.</p>
<p>Since when did he trust Sapnap so much?</p>
<p>He’s not sure, but having more than one person to rely on feels good.</p>
<p>“I have something I want to talk to you about, if you’re not busy.” Dream catches sight of movement behind Sapnap, and adds, “Karl and Quackity too, if they’re here.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Yeah, sure man, come on in,” he says, opening the flap further and ushering the taller in.</p>
<p>“Hey Dream,” Karl and Quackity chime from their places, Karl sprawled on Sapnap’s cot and Quackity leaning against a crate next to it. </p>
<p>“I have a question, before I start,” Dream begins, quietly, solidly. “Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>Trust is a two way street, of course.</p>
<p>The other three go silent at the heavy question, bounced on them so suddenly. “I mean, yeah,” Karl says, breaking the silence. “You’re our friend and you’ve done so much to help us already, why wouldn’t we trust you?”</p>
<p>The other two murmur their agreement.</p>
<p>“Why the question, Dream? What’s going on?” Sapnap asks finally.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep breath. It’s all in or nothing, now.</p>
<p>“I’m doing something risky tonight, and I could use some help.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George gets back to the tent far past nightfall. There are a lot of people wounded, some getting sick, and George spent the entire day after the fight mitigating damage and healing wounds, surrounded by some other medics he considers friends by now.</p>
<p>The moon is shining dangerously bright as he pushes into the tent.</p>
<p>Part of why he stayed out so late was because things between Dream and him are almost still rocky. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he was avoiding Dream, bracing himself for the other’s once again far too distant disposition.</p>
<p>Even still, George is disappointed when he finds the tent empty.</p>
<p>It’s selfish, but he hates that Dream isn’t just waiting for him.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t be surprised though. It’s always been George following Dream. A god doesn’t wait for a mortal. A god doesn’t <i>follow</i> a mortal. He can’t even bring himself to be bitter about it. He’s just tired.</p>
<p>A slip of parchment laid neatly at his pillow catches his attention. It’s a note, scrawled in Dream’s looping, messy script.</p>
<p>
  <i>George,<br/>I was going to bring you along, but you were working late. I’m investigating something for the war with Sapnap, Karl and Quackity. I’ll be back before sunrise.</i>
</p>
<p>George knows it shouldn’t, but it stings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The night air is breezy, the sky clear, and Dream feels off balance without George. Every important thing he’s ever done, it seems, has been with George.</p>
<p>Starlight illuminates their path, and the weight of it sits on Dream’s shoulders like thick sap, clogging his movements.</p>
<p>The other three are chatting lightly, quiet breaths filling the air with warmth.</p>
<p>That’s something Dream is noticing about them— for all of their ribbing and chaos, they’re surprisingly warm with each other.</p>
<p>Dream misses George.</p>
<p>A deep breath realigns his shoulders from where they began to slump. The reassuring weight of his axes ground him. The Earth sings beneath his feet, the call of the tide soothes his nerves, and the wind dances around him like an old friend. They shield him from the prying, insistent call of the stars who recite his argument back to him like an echo.</p>
<p>
  <i>“You sound like a sympathizer.” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”</i>
</p>
<p><i>“I’m just saying that you sound awfully supportive of the people we’re fighting, the people </i>King<i> Techno has been leading us against all this time.”</i></p>
<p><i>“</i>Careful<i> there Dream, you sound like a bootlicker.”</i></p>
<p><i>“A bootlicker? Really George? I’d rather be a fucking </i>bootlicker<i> than a traitor, and it sounds a lot like you’re walking in that direction right now.”</i></p>
<p>What the <i>fuck</i> was he thinking?</p>
<p>The answer was that he hadn’t been, not really.</p>
<p>Dream knows what they’re doing is right. He knows that winning this war is justice served. If it wasn’t, why would people like Sapnap, Bad, Karl and Quackity be fighting in it? Why would it bring him so close together with George again? No, Dream isn’t wrong about this, he <i>knows,</i> which is why the accusation that he was wrong stung so bad. How could George think anything different, how could George doubt him? That’s why he said what he did.</p>
<p>Of course it is.</p>
<p>He’s already forgiven George, and George has forgiven him.</p>
<p>Things are going to be fine.</p>
<p>A bit of breathing room is fine.</p>
<p>Dream is fine.</p>
<p>“Hey man, you okay?” Sapnap asks besides him. “You seem sorta tense.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re almost there,” Dream says instead of replying. It’s a clear dismissal of the question. Sapnap won’t bring it up again.</p>
<p>The North Cliff is the outermost tip of the jagged, tall outcropping that separates the Violet Bay from the sea beyond on the north side. It’s ironic because the cliff itself actually points south, towards the opening of the bay, and faces east, out to the ocean.</p>
<p>It’s quite pretty at sunset, Dream’s heard.</p>
<p>Maybe, he’ll take George when everything’s okay again.</p>
<p>Because it will be, he knows it.</p>
<p>When they crest the hill and the cliff levels out, they see him. Dream signals for Karl and Quackity to stand back and keep watch while Sapnap walks with him. General Eret is sat on the edge of the cliff, dressed in a basic linen shirt and deep blue pants with red and gold embroidery- the colors of the L’Manburg army.</p>
<p>“General Eret,” Dream calls, voice steady, carried and amplified by the wind. For a moment, he lets himself forget about everything else. He focuses instead on the man in front of him.</p>
<p>Eret doesn’t rise, but he looks over his shoulder at the two standing there. He smiles, and it looks kind.</p>
<p>He looks like a man who operates for the happiness of those around him.</p>
<p>“Join me?”</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t trust him at all.</p>
<p>Still, he sits.</p>
<p>Sapnap stays standing a few steps back, away from the edge of the cliff. One move from Eret could throw Dream off the edge, but Dream is better than that. Dream could predict a movement like that a mile away. No, he’s safe within his own abilities. The ender pearl in his belt is also a reassuring weight.</p>
<p>Dream sits but doesn’t speak. The dark sea seems to melt into the sky, and he looks at the way the stars and moon reflect across the choppy waves.</p>
<p>A few minutes pass before Eret breaks the silence.</p>
<p>“You know why I’m here.”</p>
<p>The man is looking out over the ocean too, not looking at Dream’s masked face.</p>
<p>“Maybe I do. How about explaining anyways?” Dream says, voice idle, casual.</p>
<p>Eret lets out a sigh, and Dream can feel the tension in the other’s posture without even looking. “L’Manburg’s cause is for naught, Dream. We do what we must to survive, and all’s fair in war.”</p>
<p>His voice is wistful, pained.</p>
<p>Eret may be a traitor, but he seems far more like a just a man.</p>
<p>Even with his mind made up, his judgments passed, Dream asks, “How do we know we can trust you?”</p>
<p>“I could wax some sorta poetic shit about there being no real way to prove my loyalty, but really, Dream,” The man looks at him finally, and Dream meets his gaze. Inside there’s fury and passion and heart ache. “I’m here with no backup, I ask no information of you and yours. I’m just here, offering you information on your enemy from within.” A pause as the wind dances between them. “If I wanted you dead,” he says, voice low and dark against the quiet of night, “I would have brought scores of men and had them attack.”</p>
<p>Dream snorts. “You’d have lost, if you had.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eret laughs. “Maybe so,” he rumbles, before repeating, quieter, “Maybe so.”</p>
<p>“How about a piece of information, something to prove you’re in for real?” Dream suggests, eyes tracing the constellations absently. It feels like counting stones laid on the ground in front of him. Numbing, in the most boring way possible.</p>
<p>“It would be my pleasure, Dream.” The other mirrors him, looking back out to the sea.</p>
<p>An idea graces his head, and Dream grins, just a bit. “Tommy. I’ve heard he has some discs that he values above everything. Is this true?”</p>
<p>Out of his peripheral, Dream sees Eret turn to face him, confused. “That’s right.”</p>
<p>Dream hums. “If one were to, I don’t know, say, steal them from him, how would that affect him?”</p>
<p>A beat.</p>
<p>The earth sings under them, the ocean lays a steady, distant rhythm, and the wind dances to it.</p>
<p>The stars hang, uncaring.</p>
<p>“I should’ve expected nothing less of you Dream. That might just work.”</p>
<p>He grins.</p>
<p>“So I’ve been hoping.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They tie a bandana around Eret’s eyes, a rope around his wrists, and lead him to their camp. He goes willingly without protest.</p>
<p>
  <i>”I understand, really, it’s quite okay. I know how these things are supposed to go.”</i>
</p>
<p>When the four reach the camp with their prisoner, their spy, it’s quiet. Everyone is asleep. Sapnap leaves them at the edge of the camp to get Techno. It’s silent, and only the gentle conversation of the whistling winds and rustling leaves interrupts the peace.</p>
<p>Sapnap arrives with a muttering king, as put together as he always is— that is to say, not much— Dream smiles.</p>
<p>Techno’s eyes land on him, and he feels hot pride flow through him at the slight aghast look on the man’s face.</p>
<p>“King Techno. Might I introduce you to General Eret of the L’Manburgian army, here to offer his service to us as a spy.”</p>
<p>Eret smiles, dipping his head. His eyes are still covered, his hands are still bound.</p>
<p>Into the night, his deep voice reverberates through the silence.</p>
<p>“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, <i>my king.</i>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a drawn out conversation that draws too late into the night, Eret is directed back into the night. Once a week, the General is to report to the North Cliff to report any information received. If it can’t wait, a letter placed there or slipped to one of them in the mess of battle. Should they learn Eret is lying to them, he’ll have hell to pay.</p>
<p>Dream makes his way to their tent, tired. The stars sit heavily on his back, and not for the first time, he catches himself lost in thought.</p>
<p>The boy from the Nether.</p>
<p>Lost, alone, so much like Dream had been just after his village had been wiped out.</p>
<p>Dream had <i>prayed</i>, he’d <i>begged</i> the stars to help.</p>
<p>The stars don’t care.</p>
<p>Dream learned that too late. The stars can rot in the skies, for all he cares.</p>
<p>When he enters the tent, George is asleep. It sends a pang through his chest. A selfish part of him had wanted George to be waiting up for him. Obviously, he hadn’t.</p>
<p>He lays to sleep, cold, the terrible starlight casting the tent in silver ice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first week, Skeppy is sent to receive Eret’s message, and Bad accompanies him. They return with a map of tunnels dug into the fields and surrounding forests which lead back to small bases and ultimately to L’Manburg.</p>
<p>Techno, upon seeing them, smirks.</p>
<p>The second week, Dream offers to go. By then, he’d explained to George what had happened regarding the spy. Even still, Dream goes alone. He’s not sure why. Something still feels fragile between them in the worst sort of way after their argument, and Dream doesn’t want to risk their slow climb back to stable ground for anything.</p>
<p>He thinks that’s why he’s keeping his plan to steal the discs a secret from George.</p>
<p>The night air is humid, the sky cloudy. As he walks the path to the North Cliff he can see a heavy fog rolling in across the ocean. His lamp hangs unlit at his side, his footsteps silent. In the lightless night, Dream is a ghost approaching the cliff side, the small glow of a lamp where Eret sits the only sign of life in the quiet night.</p>
<p>Dream has come to prefer nights like these.</p>
<p>When he gets there, he sits silently next to Eret, startling the man.</p>
<p>“Oh Ender, Dream. Give a man some warning.” The spy readjusts his seating, fingers flexing where they grip the sharp edge of the cliff.</p>
<p>Dream laughs lightly. “What’s on the table this week?”</p>
<p>“Hm, not much,” the other replies, folding one long leg under the other. “I just figured I’d give some general information on the L’Manburg army. Strengths, weaknesses, the likes.”</p>
<p>The orange light of the lantern warms Eret’s skin. With the easy sea breeze sweeping through their hair, Dream wishes it was George by his side instead.</p>
<p>Dream wishes it was the Hunt, for one single moment.</p>
<p>For even less, he wishes to be able to feel the old comfort of the stars dancing around him.</p>
<p>He brushes the thoughts away.</p>
<p>“That’s perfect, really. Because I came here to ask you about something specific about Tommy.”</p>
<p>“His discs?” Eret simply asks.</p>
<p>Dream smirks. “What else?”</p>
<p>“Well ask away. I’ll tell you everything else after,” Eret rumbles.</p>
<p>Humming, he asks, “Where does he keep them, exactly, do you know?”</p>
<p>So Eret tells him.</p>
<p>They’re stored in display cases in his home. Eret marks the place on a map for Dream. Tommy lives with his mother and close friend, the latter actually also helping fight in the war.</p>
<p>“The area that he lives in is full of high ranking officials and other people in the favor of Duke Philza. I actually live there, along with General Wilbur, General Fundy, and General Niki. It’s guarded fairly well, so you’ll have to be careful breaking in. If you get caught, hero or not, they’ll take off your head.”</p>
<p>The idea strikes him. Even after everything he’s done for this world, breaking some laws would send him to death, no different from before he and George killed the Dragon. It sends bitter waves down his spine.</p>
<p>After all he’s done, he should be able to walk in and take them while staring the Duke in his eyes. He’s the only reason their world isn’t being torn apart particle by particle by the misery of the End trying to keep the Dragon trapped.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing to worry about. They won’t catch me,” he says eventually, casting his gaze towards Eret, “even if you do tell them all in advance.”</p>
<p>He watches something flare in the other’s eyes, almost akin to fear. Nothing close to guilt, just the natural reaction to the way the mask flashes in the low light. The other recovers quickly, snorting. “Your confidence will be your undoing, Dream. Be careful— they’re a powerful lot.”</p>
<p>Dream can hear the sincerity in the other’s voice, and he looks out to the sea. “Confidence only leads you astray when it’s misplaced.”</p>
<p>“Whatever you say, your Godliness.” </p>
<p>Dream blinks. It’s been awhile since someone mocked him so openly, yet he can tell it’s not quite serious. Not like it always used to be, when people would imagine his death like a prophecy during the Hunt.</p>
<p>He lets a small laugh escape his lungs. “Damn right.” A few minutes pass as they both look out into the black abyss in front of them, all pitch black ocean and lightless sky and fog. It makes him think of the End, of the way the Dragon’s purple fog wrapped around him and stole his life.</p>
<p>He’d be dead, if it weren’t for George.</p>
<p>With a shiver, he pushes the thought away. “What do you have to offer about the army?”</p>
<p>Jotting down notes in the warm lamp light on all of the things Eret says to bring back to the crown, Dream can’t help but think of George, of his close friend and the only person he loves.</p>
<p>For the first time in a while, he feels fear. Fear that maybe, things between him and George are broken beyond repair.</p>
<p>Dream pushes all thoughts except for those regarding the war out of his head. With him, he brings back a full page of notes on the L’Manburg army and a fully fleshed out plan to steal Tommy’s discs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George’s work in the med tents keeps him busy, and for that he’s thankful. It keeps his head free of thoughts about how distant Dream has been as of late, how it’s clear that the other is obviously keeping something from him.</p>
<p>Across the room, he hears the shaky sigh of a medic as the poor girl she was treating inevitably dies from the infection festering through her chest. He focuses on the person he’s treating, cleaning the wound again and coating it in a healing salve made from holly berries, pufferfish toxins, kelp, and honey. He knows it doesn’t do nearly as much as a proper healing potion would do.</p>
<p>But he’s saving them, he reminds himself, for Dream.</p>
<p>He lets out a tempered exhale and focuses on reapplying the bandages evenly, tight enough to hold but not so tight as to cut off circulation or be uncomfortable. After that poor soul is done, he moves on to the next. After that? The next, then the next, and another. A seemingly endless path of destruction, of suffering.</p>
<p>Somehow, he can’t help but think of Dream.</p>
<p>He clears his mind. In front of him is a poor, too-young boy that needs a wound cleaned and stitches. George focuses on the alcohol he pours over the wound and the careful slide of the needle through skin, and his hands are steady.</p>
<p>One after another, after another, after another.</p>
<p>George works, and distinctly does <i>not</i> think about Dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been a little over a month since their fight. George tries not to spend a huge amount of time in the tent. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s avoiding Dream, or avoiding the empty space he leaves when he’s out avoiding George. It’s probably a bit of both, if he’s honest with himself.</p>
<p>Tonight, they’re both in the tent. Dream is poring over a piece of parchment, and George is reading a book they found on plant properties. He remembers them all by heart, but the words are familiar and to him, they read more like a lullaby than an informational text. Things feel good between them. Earlier in the day, they spent some time with their friends together and things were okay. Their banter always falls back into familiar territory, and they’re both at ease with the other soldiers they’re fighting with. He’s decided that he’ll set all of it aside for Dream, for them all. They need him here, and George needs them. Right or wrong, he’ll do what he can to help, to mitigate the damage and save lives.</p>
<p>He’s already followed Dream to hell and back. He’ll do it again, and again, and again, so long as Dream has a place by his side for George. Even if it is just through fanciful quests for the sake of his pride.</p>
<p>George is still wrestling with bone deep sadness, but it’s soothed now by the gentle ache of peace, by clarity of mind.</p>
<p>“Hey, George,” Dream calls to him, voice gentle in a way that makes him feel safe.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” He answers, looking up from his book to meet the other’s eyes. They’re wide and open, excited and soft. George thinks that he’ll always love those eyes, no matter what.</p>
<p>Dream smiles at him, so sweet and perfect that George can almost forget everything. The ache in his chest blooms like roses in his lungs, thorns wrapping tightly around his heart. Bittersweet. Beautiful.</p>
<p>“Can I sit over there with you? I wanna talk to you about something.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words strike a bit of fear into him, but he pushes it away. He doesn’t have to worry.</p>
<p>
  <i>Wherever Dream goes, he’s going.</i>
</p>
<p>So it’s okay.</p>
<p>George nods, and when Dream walks over, he finds it in himself to simply lift his legs for the taller to slip under them.</p>
<p>The surprised, happy smile Dream sends him breaks his heart.</p>
<p>He sits and George rests his legs across the other’s thighs. Immediately, Dream’s hands land on the bare skin of his shins and start rubbing idle circles there. George melts, and he lets himself lean back and relax.</p>
<p>They’re okay.</p>
<p>They’re going to be okay.</p>
<p>George is sure.</p>
<p>“I’ve been planning something.”</p>
<p>The words bring George’s thoughts away from the warmth of Dream’s sword-callused hands. He consciously reminds himself to not worry.</p>
<p>“Oh?” He asks, keeping his voice calm. He goes back to thinking about the small motions Dream is making on his legs. It keeps him grounded.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Dream hesitates. George looks at him and weighs his options.</p>
<p>The thorns around his heart grow.</p>
<p>Decision made, George sits up, swinging his legs from the warmth of Dream’s lap, and presses himself shoulder to shoulder with the other. Reassurance at it’s finest.</p>
<p>Dream leans into the contact and takes a deep breath. “I’ve found leverage against Tommy. I know—” he stops, leaning his head against George’s shoulder, slouching. “I know you had your doubts about everything,” he continues, voice hesitant but sure, “but I’m here for the long run. I won’t blame you if you leave but—”</p>
<p>George cuts him off, resolve building as the rose grows, ever more beautiful and open. “I’m here, Dream. This fight is yours, so this fight is mine. Plus, I can’t abandon everyone here. They’d all die without us.” His tone at the end is light, joking, but it carries a weight he didn’t mean to have.</p>
<p>Even still, he feels tension leave Dream’s frame as the other goes boneless against him. “I don’t want to lose you, George.”</p>
<p>George feels a sigh escape from his chest, aching so sadly. <i>You won’t</i>, he wants to say. <i>You can’t</i> he wants to promise.</p>
<p>But George is doing all he can.</p>
<p>Dream’s the one who’s in control of that.</p>
<p>He always has been.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to lose you either.”</p>
<p><i>Choose me,</i> he whispers.</p>
<p><i>Stay with me,</i> he pleads.</p>
<p>“Tell me about your plan,” George murmurs instead, chest raw and aching, everything on display if Dream just takes the opportunity to look.</p>
<p>He doesn’t.</p>
<p>“Tomorrow night I’m going into L’Manburg to…”</p>
<p>He never does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun sets into the distant ocean the following evening and Dream is standing just inside the tent, mask firmly in place, small daggers strapped to his belt alongside a few ender pearls and a healing potion. George wanted to go with him, but two people, no matter how skilled the two are, are louder than one, and Eret’s warning is ringing in his head.</p>
<p>If he’s caught, he’s dead.</p>
<p>He’s not doing that to George.</p>
<p>So here they are, George in his casual evening wear, Dream covered in dark colors and weapons. Night and day.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep breath as the last of the light begins fading from the already partly cloudy sky.</p>
<p>“It’s time?” George asks, something resigned, pained in his voice. All of today, George has seemed off. Sad. His affection has flowed far closer to freely, but his frowns and sighs have felt heavier, appearing more often than they ever should. It weighs on Dream’s heart, but he pushes that aside. He can’t focus on anything but what’s important tonight: the discs. If he does anything else, he won’t succeed.</p>
<p>Dream smiles at him from under the mask. “Yep,” he says, popping the p.</p>
<p>George stands and walks up to him. He’s got a dark square of cloth in his hand, forest green. “Before you go, I wanted to suggest something.” His voice is quiet but oddly hard in the slowly dying evening din. “When you get away from camp, take off your mask and use this to cover your face. With your hood up, you should be hidden. You’ll keep your anonymity but you won’t be recognized. It could buy you some ease of movement in the city at least.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The careful thought warms Dream’s chest, and he nods. “That’s smart, yeah.”</p>
<p>George nods at him. “Give me your hand.”</p>
<p>When he does without hesitation, George carefully ties the cloth around his wrist. It feels like all of the armor he isn’t wearing was just given to him in the form of one careful gift. In the slowly dissipating light, Dream looks up from his wrist to George. He’s smiling at Dream, soft and inexplicably sad, and it feels like a knife in his chest. Gently, George places a hand on Dream’s exposed jaw. He stands on his tip toes and pulls Dream down to him.</p>
<p>Fire floods his veins and alarms ring in his head. His eyes slip shut on their own accord, ready for a kiss he’s longed for for forever.</p>
<p>Instead, his eyes flutter back open when he feels a gentle pressure on the cheek of the mask. He sees George pull away, eyes opening to reveal pools of swirling emotion.</p>
<p>Inches apart, he’s never felt so far.</p>
<p>He wants to rip the mask off and pull George into his arms and just exist with him, in the same space, breathing the same air, as close as physically able. He wants to hold the man to his chest and never let him go. He wants to cry into the other’s soft, dark hair. He kind of wants to crawl into a river somewhere to drown.</p>
<p>He does none of that, just stands there, heart ripped open, the frosty, silver star dust of heartache trickling down his spine as George smiles again. “Good luck,” he whispers, fingertips leaving patches of ice when they’re pulled from his face.</p>
<p>When Dream finally makes it into the woods, out of sight of the camp, all he can feel is cold, even in the still warm air of late summer. He pulls the mask off and looks at it, for the first time in so long, with fresh eyes.</p>
<p>He doesn’t like what he sees.</p>
<p>In the dark cover of the oak trees, he slips the mask out of sight and gently, almost reverently, unties the cloth, wrapping it over his nose and tying it behind his head. His hood obscures his blond hair, keeping him perfectly hidden, protected from being known.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep breath and centers his mind.</p>
<p>He has some discs to steal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George isn’t sure how, but he sleeps. He tosses too much and wakes too early, but somehow he does actually sleep.</p>
<p>He’s thankful, because when he wakes up, Dream hasn’t returned. All he can feel is anxiety, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. Dream is infallible, unshakable. Simple stealing is not enough to down the hero who saved the world, <i>he knows</i>.</p>
<p>It doesn’t stop the way his heart rate starts to spike.</p>
<p>All he can think about is the Hunt, the myriad of times he’s come too close to losing Dream. All of the times he should have died, but didn’t. The terrible feeling of his limp body as George carried his comatose form through the end portal, shakily brewing a splash potion of healing for fear of the other choking on a normal one. The weeks of time after spent afraid that one minute with his eyes shut would lead to waking up to find Dream dead and gone.</p>
<p>Before he knows it, he finds himself at Sapnap’s tent, anxiously, tentatively calling the other’s name.</p>
<p>George has never been one to reach for help, but something about the raw panic creeping up his throat and constricting his airway is a cry for aid on it’s own.</p>
<p>Sleepily, the other opens the flap of his tent. His hair is messy and loose from his typical bandana, and there’s a red crease on his cheek from his blanket. “George?”</p>
<p>“Oh, um, sorry to bother you-” he begins, voice just a bit thin, almost strangled.</p>
<p>Sapnap interrupts him, more awake, “Hey, no, none of that. What’s up George? Do you want to come in?”</p>
<p>He wants to say yes, but the idea of staying away from his tent for longer than necessary sends spikes of fear through him. What if Dream gets back wounded and George isn’t there for him? Some panic must show in his eyes, because Sapnap backtracks. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“It- it’s stupid.” His voice is shaking, he realizes distantly.</p>
<p>“Whatever’s got you this upset is probably important.” Sapnap says, voice concerned yet somehow still comforting in the chilly air.</p>
<p>He wraps his arms around his middle, a shiver running down his spine in the cool night air. “If you don’t mind, can we maybe go back to my tent? I—” He pauses, chewing on the words before giving in, “Dream’s not back yet.”</p>
<p>Something in Sapnap’s expression gives. “Oh. Yeah, uh, definitely. Lead the way.”</p>
<p>They make their way back to the tent on just too hurried feet, a pace set in George’s anxiety. When he finds the tent empty just as he left it, he feels tension release and wash in at the same time. George ignores it in favor of sitting on his bed, making himself instinctively small.</p>
<p>Sapnap sits next to him, wrapping a steady arm around his shoulder that George instantly leans into. In the safety of the other’s warm embrace, he can feel Sapnap’s steady, deep breaths, and after a few minutes of sitting like that, George finds that he can breathe easier.</p>
<p>“How’d you know to do that?” he asks from the safety of his position.</p>
<p>Sapnap glances away as red colors his cheeks. “Uh, Karl freaks out like that about a lot of things. It seemed kinda similar, so I just, tried the same thing I guess.”</p>
<p>The idea is really cute, if George is being honest.</p>
<p>“Do you want to talk about it?” Sapnap asks as George leans his head on the other’s comforting, solid shoulder. He relishes it for all of the ways it’s different from leaning on Dream. There are no expectations, no waiting with bated breath because maybe this time is the time they figure themselves out. It’s just a shoulder to lean on, and that’s something he hasn’t realized he’s needed until now.</p>
<p>George sighs. “I’m just worried, I guess. When we were hunting the Ender Dragon, we were all we had. There were a lot of times that he almost died, and I’m always just— afraid we’re up against a running clock. For a while that idea sort of went away, but, I dunno.” A pause where neither of them speaks passes, before George continues in a shaky voice, “I’m really afraid of losing him, Sapnap.” The confession floats in the air as fragile as dust yet as heavy as lead.</p>
<p>“I know I haven’t known Dream for nearly as long as you, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about him, it’s that he can get through just about everything. Plus, you have to remember that the walk back takes a while. He’s probably just on his way back.”</p>
<p>The words, candid and sincere yet comforting as anything, help release some more of the tension pinching his body together, and he finds it in himself to sit up.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Sapnap. I’m sorry for waking you up.”</p>
<p>Sapnap smiles at him, a big grin that makes George happy, just a bit, in turn.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you did. If you need anything dude, I’m happy to help.”</p>
<p>Sapnap doesn’t leave after that. Instead they sit on opposite ends of George’s cot and chat about anything. George can forget the panic at the front of his mind and he’s so thankful that he’s met Sapnap. The anxiety hasn’t left his system, but it’s gone down enough that he can breathe and think rationally.</p>
<p>The anxiety washing out leaves him tired and sad, because if Dream just let him go along, none of this would be happening. If it was the Hunt, George would be with him right now.</p>
<p>It’s not the Hunt. There’s so much different, and George mourns the death of the Dragon some nights because with it died something else, something near to both Dream and George’s hearts.</p>
<p>He lets Sapnap carry the conversation, but as the sun begins to lighten the sky outside the tent, he can’t help but start to worry again. He can tell the other is tired. George doesn’t want to be a burden, but he can’t quite bring himself to ask the other to leave.</p>
<p>It’s just before the anxiety comes washing back in full force, just as the sun crests the horizon, that Dream enters the tent. His tall figure is backlit by the haze of a cloudless dawn, his hair highlighted golden by the faint morning rays.</p>
<p>George’s feels relief like a drug, running rampant through his system. He stands as Dream enters.</p>
<p>Dream is grinning.</p>
<p>Reaching into a bag at his side, he pulls out a flat, black circle with a ring of yellow in the middle. A disc.</p>
<p>“Oh, hell yeah!” Sapnap says, first to break the moment. George watches as Dream’s head turns to Sapnap, and his grin shifts a bit, becomes cheerier, less braggadocious.</p>
<p>“Hell yeah is right! They have no clue I was there. Not a single thing went wrong!” Dream says triumphantly.</p>
<p>Sapnap turns to him with a grin. “See? ‘Told you he was alright.”</p>
<p>A smile starts to grow on George’s face, but it feels tired. All too quickly the relief is washing out, leaving him exhausted and still just sad.</p>
<p>He’s proud of Dream though.</p>
<p>“Aww,” Dream coos jokingly, “Was somebody worried about me?”</p>
<p>George rolls his eyes. “Of course I was,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light and not bring down the mood, “I wasn’t there to save your dumb ass if you needed it.”</p>
<p>Something changes in the way Dream’s holding his shoulders. They slump a bit. George wishes he would just take his mask off. Would just stop hiding.</p>
<p>Sapnap stretches and yawns. “I’m gonna go get ready for the day, no point in going back to sleep now,” he mutters, voice teasing and comforting in equal measures.</p>
<p>“Bye Sapnap,” Dream chimes, voice still bright and excited.</p>
<p>“Bye Sapnap,” George mirrors, adding at the last minute, “Thanks for the help.”</p>
<p>Sapnap shoots him another smile. “Like I said dude, anytime.”</p>
<p>With that the General is gone, and George and Dream are alone in their tent.</p>
<p>George shoots Dream a smile, happy he’s back safe. The residual anxiety buzzes under his skin like acid, making him feel sick. He watches as Dream slips his mask off to reveal still glowing eyes.</p>
<p>“Not that I’m not always happy to see Sap, but what was that about?” Dream asks. It’s an innocent question, but it sends George’s mind reeling back to the sheer panic he felt upon seeing Dream still gone.</p>
<p>He grimaces but quickly covers it up, pushing the thought to the sides. “We were waiting for you to get back,” George says in lieu of, <i>I was so worried about you that I couldn’t breathe and I needed someone with me or else I’d get lost in a world where you died in my arms one too many times to count.</i></p>
<p>Something sad must still show in his eyes, because Dream’s expression flashes with worry before settling into something upset.</p>
<p>“You know you don’t need to worry about me,” he says softly, eyebrows pinched. “I’m fine, see?”</p>
<p>George forces a smile, already too broken to snap. He feels like a shell. He’s not really sure why. “You did good,” he says softly instead.</p>
<p>Something in Dream’s expression wilts, and George feels guilty, distantly.</p>
<p>Most of the things he feels seem distant.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong, George?” Dream asks finally, concern mixed with hurt and confusion lacing wrinkles across his golden skin.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about me, Dream,” he says, trying to sound more convincing. “I just got worried because you weren’t back when I woke up. What’s important now is that you got the discs!” George tries to channel the joy he feels for the other, but it’s hard through the tired fog of his emotions.</p>
<p>As they get ready for the day, Dream talking about how it went, George feels the fog dissipate with the rising sun.</p>
<p>He’s able to laugh with Dream, and it feels good.</p>
<p>If only he could convince himself that it’ll last.</p>
<p>Maybe then the heavy haze of sadness would finally, finally go away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love you all?<br/>To be fair this chapter isn't that bad comparatively...<br/>:)<br/>Anyways! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and Kudos, they make my day undescribably better!!! And as always feel free to reach out to me on my tumblr @ honkschnoo !!!!!!!! Reminder that i'm taking a week off and I'll be back the second Friday of January<br/>Merry christmas to those who celebrate, happy holidays, and hopefully, a <i>blessed goddamn new year.</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. His Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Today of all days, see</i>
  <br/>
  <i>How the most dangerous thing is to love</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OH MY GOD this is so late. BUT it is still friday somewhere.</p><p>And by somewhere I mean literally only hawaii</p><p>Anyways happy 4:20 am I thought it was like 2:30 I wrote most of this chapter today bc my school has been kicking my ass.</p><p>Also!! minor TW for graphic depictions of violence to monsters. idk there's monster blood I figured I'd give a heads up</p><p>on that note I want to officially say that I'm going to post again next Friday but I can't guarantee I'll be settling into a normal weekly update schedule. I may in fact decide to go properly to a biweekly schedule. Once a fortnight amirite guys? It's really late let me know what y'all want &lt;3<br/>nonetheless, I really hope you guys like this chapter, full to the brim with memories of the past. I hope it's up to quality but a lot of it didn't go through the typical editing process because I wasn't about to keep Sheep up however late I was gonna stay up writing. I feel like I had more to say too but I forgot oh well &lt;3<br/>Enjoy~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream is extraordinary. It’s something proven to George every new dawn they travel together. It’s only been a few weeks, and honestly? George is still adjusting. His entire life, he was confined to one village and its surrounding fields and forests. All of that’s changed since he met Dream and was swept away on this whirlwind of an adventure.</p><p>Ever since they began traveling together, Dream’s been giving George daily fighting lessons. As a healer’s apprentice, he was unused to fighting, something taught really only to the town protector and a few others, should they choose to learn. George hadn’t chosen to fight, but as he learns now with the mysterious man in front of him as his teacher, he finds it really easy to pick up. It only took a week for the sword to feel comfortable in his hand, a little over for him to kill his first zombie. By now, he’s able to manage most basic forms, and he’s beyond proud of himself.</p><p>When Dream mutters a little, “Perfect,” after a hard form, George can’t help but beam at him.</p><p>The smile Dream returns is excited, just a little bit intoxicating.</p><p>George wants to impress him.</p><p> </p><p>It’s the next morning, and George has been up for an hour or so on watch while Dream sleeps. The other insists that he’s okay with getting as little sleep as he does, but George has slowly been pushing the other to rest more, to share more of the burden of traveling with him. As the sun slowly rises, Dream does too. The mask is still situated on his face, and George can’t help but think it’d be so uncomfortable to sleep in. He doesn’t comment on it though. Instead, he greets the other good morning.</p><p>They go about their routines together. Dream cooks some eggs in a pan over their fire while George looks for wild scallions. They eat together and chat, and when they’re done, George picks up his sword in preparation of practice.</p><p>No matter what, they don’t miss practice. It can be annoying when George’s legs ache from their travels and all he wants to do is categorize the various plants he sees around him, but in the end it’s become something of a comfort. In the chaos of the ever changing world around them, the constant newness of the land as they travel, it’s something steady, familiar.</p><p>So when Dream picks up his axe instead of leading George to a nearby flat area, he feels a rush of discomfort flood his system. What is the other doing?</p><p>Like he can read George’s thoughts, Dream explains, “You’ve got the forms down, George, but in a real fight, forms only do so much. The only way to get better at them now is to practice.”</p><p>Dream expects George to <i>fight</i> him?</p><p>“Dream-” He starts to protest, thinking of the way the other moves like his weapon is just a part of him, like he’s a liquid, in control of every fiber of his being.</p><p>“Hey, none of that. I promise I won’t hurt you.” Dream pauses, shooting him a smile that, paired with the shine of his mask, makes him look just a bit too devilish in all of the best ways. “Do you trust me George?”</p><p>A beat passes before George responds with a flat, muttered, “Not really.”</p><p>Dream freezes, mouth agape for a moment before forming a series of unspoken words. “Hey- You- I,” He clicks his mouth, and George can’t help but think it looks like he’s pouting.</p><p>“I’ve barely known you for a month! You can’t pout at me for not trusting you completely!” George shouts in defense, laughter lacing with his word at the absurdity.</p><p>“I was <i>not</i> pouting! You take that back right now!” Dream responds, after another moment of shock. Their little argument devolves into laughter, and George thinks that, for all he’s sacrificed for their impromptu arrangement, it might be the happiest he’s been in a while.</p><p> </p><p>As the weeks pass, the days grow longer, warmer, and George finally, for the first time, beats Dream sparring.</p><p>He knows the other is taking it easy on him, of course he does— if he wasn’t, George would be dead a million times over. His ghost would be dead. No, Dream is definitely holding most of his power back, but George is getting better.</p><p>When George pokes the other squarely in the stomach with his blunt wood sword, Dream stares at him for a solid minute. The mask hides all of his features other than his mouth, and it makes reading his expression more difficult. The way the crudely drawn smile looks at him, unblinking, makes him fidget in discomfort. </p><p>Eventually though, a smile starts to grow on Dream’s face. The taller starts to laugh, his happiness cradled gently in the harsh sound, and George grins. He’s starting to think he’ll do anything to make the other proud.</p><p> </p><p>“Good job, Georgie!” Dream says after his laughter has finally calmed down. The other’s smile is luminous in the warm morning sun, like one more beautiful star in a perfect galaxy. He shakes out his arms and spins the axe around his hand. If George is able to beat him, he thinks it might be time to take it up a notch.</p><p>“Do you want to go for another round?”</p><p>He watches a flash of uncertainty appear on the other’s face before it morphs into something a bit more set, if slightly unsteady. “I think so, yeah.”</p><p>That’s all he gets before George lowers himself into a fighting stance that’s stable and well balanced. Dream focuses back in, and of course, he wins. George is getting far, far better though. It reminds him of his training. The fond memory aches somewhere deep beneath his ribs, and, not for the first nor last time, he misses his village.</p><p>He refuses to think about it though.</p><p>Instead he focuses on the way George’s sword swings through the air when they fight, the way his hair has gotten longer since they first met, and the way that by every passing day, George is just mildly better equipped to handle travelling with the likes of him.</p><p>To be honest, it’s really impressive.</p><p>The sun rises on a new day weeks later that finds Dream waking early, again, like always. George doesn’t notice he’s up immediately, and Dream takes the moment to look at the other while his guard is down. Every day that passes, George gets better at hiding stuff from him, just another trick of the road that he’s picking up oh so easily. The longer they travel together, the less of a difference he can spot between when George is being candid and when he’s hiding his natural reactions. It’s to be expected, that the other would flinch or turn away around him. His mask isn’t exactly friendly一 honestly it’s terribly off-putting, which is the point. As more time passes though, George has gotten better at hiding his negative responses to the point that Dream has trouble spotting them.</p><p>On mornings like these, when the sun has barely risen, when George is nothing but candid before he has to slip on a mask of his own, Dream lets himself relax. This George is one he knows he can trust, because morning-watch George doesn’t know there’s anything he has to hide from, anything he needs to lie to.</p><p>The thoughts feel heavy in his chest, so he brushes it away with a big, over the top stretch. George turns to him, a bit startled before he sends Dream a little smile. “Morning,” he greets, standing and stretching. “If you’re up, we might as well get an early start to our day.” Just like that, his mask goes on.</p><p>They eat breakfast together, and when Dream laughs too loud or makes a morbid joke, George doesn’t flinch away, doesn't go quiet. He seamlessly hides his discomfort and just keeps talking. When they go to spar, George lowers himself into a stance so steady, so sure, that it makes Dream’s chest flare. Ever since George first beat Dream, he’s been throwing himself into sparring even more so than he had before, like maybe <i>this</i> time he’d beat Dream.</p><p>The fire in the other’s eyes is hidden as he slides the thick goggles over his eyes. Dream drops into a stance wordlessly, feeling a fire of his own simmer to life. It’s not something he feels often sparring, but something about George’s confidence, his determination, makes his blood boil in the most exhilarating way. Dream can’t, for the life of him, place why he’s reacting this way. He’d say it’s the recklessness, but George isn’t reckless when he gets like this. No, instead he’s talented and logical, studying Dream’s moves just like he taught the other to do and trying to best determine when he can strike. Every minute he spends fighting, his estimates are that much more accurate, faster, deadlier.</p><p>It excites Dream, he realizes.</p><p>He takes a breath, trying to recenter himself, trying to remind himself to take it down a notch. As he takes his first clear step forward, axe swinging in strong, he’s not sure he managed一 at least, not to the extent he would’ve liked. Even still, George pulls his blade up in time to meet the swing. The force makes him stumble back, and he dodges out of the way. His movements aren’t clean, but they’re fast. Dream has to consciously restrain himself from striking again, too fast for George to possibly respond. Even still, he sees the way he could kick out and off-balance him, sees the way a lightning-fast swipe of his axe to the other’s side would take him out, sees the moment George turns too fast and disorients himself a bit. Instead, he watches as George doesn’t give up, instead he brings his sword down fast, towards Dream’s head. Dream dodges out of the way, momentum culminating in a swift roll to the right. He comes out of the roll standing and holds himself back from launching himself towards George. Taking a deep breath helps, but he feels like he’s holding back an animal; it takes considerable energy一 so much focus to <i>not</i> lay the other flat.</p><p>Then George’s sword is sweeping towards him, and he can’t help but stumble back into reality, countering by swiping at the sword with his axe. It hits with an overly forceful clang, just too late to be really effective but powerful enough to still throw George’s rhythm off. Dream feels like he’s fighting two battles, and he can’t focus. All of his movements are imprecise and they feel chaotic.</p><p>There’s the heat of <i>something</i> in his lungs, thick and heady like smoke, and it makes him feel dizzy. It feels like too much energy trying to leave all at once. It feels like he’s full of gunpowder, and George is crackling and sparking. All Dream wants to do is explode.</p><p>They exchange a few more messy parries and George can <i>tell</i> Dream is distracted, Dream knows, because the other’s strikes come faster, more persistent.</p><p>George dodges back from a swing of his axe that was too fast but too late, and from where he’s standing a few feet in front of Dream, he cracks a grin. It looks like fire in the blaze of the morning sun.</p><p>“Come on, Dream, stop holding back so much.” Dream can feel the sparks against his skin. “I can take a bit more than this.”</p><p>The gunpowder catches.</p><p>Dream loses his grip on the animal.</p><p>The world narrows to George, and suddenly everything feels easy. Clear.</p><p>He feels a grin, too many teeth and a bit too charismatic, slip over his face as he relaxes completely. Without thought, he twirls his axe around his hands and stands straight up, out of the fighting stance he’d previously been in. George looks confused, and his stance goes hesitant.</p><p>“If you insist, Georgie.”</p><p>And really, Dream can’t help but explode.</p><p>The axe slices through the air with arcing precision and Dream launches himself towards George. The other stumbles back, out of the way of the swing.</p><p>Typically, their fights have a near even exchange of parries. Every attack is followed by a defense, normally. Every so often, one of them will make two consecutive attacks, but it doesn’t happen often.</p><p>In this moment though, Dream forgets all of their rules. The only thing he knows is that no matter what, he won’t hurt George.</p><p>His axe comes down again, and George, who was clearly planning a way to attack, tries to  quickly bring his sword up to block. He isn’t ready for it though, and the force knocks him far off-balance. Dream takes a moment to stabilize himself, lets George get his footing together, before the fire lighting his nerves up sends him back into the thick of attack.</p><p>It’s barely a minute before Dream’s axe hooks over and around the blade of George’s sword, and he twists it so that it’s forced to fall from the shorter’s grasp. In the same movement, Dream reaches out and yanks on a handful of George's shirt, sending him stumbling forward.</p><p>In the blink of an eye, George is barely a foot away from him looking up at Dream, whose axe blade is pressed gently yet insistently against the other’s jugular. To avoid the pressure, George’s head is tilted back, baring the pale column of his throat.</p><p>For a moment, they just stand there. The adrenaline leaves quickly, and they’re left standing, face to face as they catch their breath. This close, Dream can almost make out George’s eyes under the dark lens of the goggles. As the situation catches up with him, as he realizes just how hard he went on George in that fight, he lets the axe fall away from the other’s neck. His hand is still tangled in the other’s shirt.</p><p>It feels like centuries that they stand there like that, George almost definitely studying the emotionless smile of the mask while Dream waits for the other to flinch away, to finally snap back into reality, because Dream knows he’s a freak. Dream knows he’s terrifying, knows he’s a monster sometimes.</p><p>George got so good at hiding his fear that Dream let himself get attached to having someone with him, and now here he is, barely breathing because he fucked up.</p><p>Again.</p><p>Then, George cracks a smile. He looks a bit tired, a bit weary, but he puts on a convincing grin. Dream’s impressed at the skill with which the other hides the fear that that had to have brought. Still, he waits for the other to step away, to make some excuse to get some air.</p><p>It never comes.</p><p>Instead, Dream hears George start to giggle, little warm sounds that are a bit breathless; they’re bright and a bit startling in their intensity, and Dream doesn’t understand them one bit. It’s nothing though, compared to the way that a moment later George’s head falls to rest on his shoulder, a warm, solid weight against his form.</p><p>In no way is this fear. In no world does someone mask fear by leaning on someone terrifying and losing their mind in laughter.</p><p>Everything about George right now is warm. Dream feels like he’s been trapped in ice for years and he’s finally found the sun. It feels like a warm spring morning dawning after an eternal winter.</p><p>It’s absurd and warm and somehow, Dream feels himself start to laugh too.</p><p>The idea hits him like a tidal wave, that maybe George hasn’t gotten better at hiding stuff from Dream. Rather, he just stopped hiding things, had nothing to hide.</p><p>It elicits a stronger laugh from him, and he lets his grasp on George’s shirt shift to the other’s shoulder.</p><p>Between the laughter, George manages, “Point taken, I can’t handle you like that.”</p><p>Dream laughs harder. “Sorry,” he wheezes, “I didn’t mean to like, let loose.” He starts to catch his breath, and he giggles out a teasingly flirtatious, “something about you just makes me lose myself.” George sputters, and his neck goes red. It makes Dream’s laughter grow again.</p><p>He can’t get enough of the other, now that he knows it’s all candid. He feels drunk on George’s trust, on his companionship.</p><p>As the weeks go on and they keep traveling, keep sparring, keep practicing, he starts worrying less about scaring George. Instead, he relaxes into this new dynamic, lets himself be more candid in response.</p><p>Walking through an oak forest on a breezy, warm summer day, laughing uncontrollably about something dumb with the shorter, he thinks that he could get used to this.</p><p>~*~</p><p>They’ve been following the map for a while. The worn parchment was sold to them for a too-high price in a village a ways back; it details the way to an obscure, ancient mansion hidden within the depths of the Carien Forest, a relic from the old times, before modern humanity. The mansions have been found around the world, and they’re rumored to be filled to the brim with knowledge. The only problem is that they’re filled with Illagers一 the brain dead husks of the Old Race, and they don’t like visitors. Many of the old mansions were burned down to get rid of the vindicators and evokers said to live there, but there are still a few left standing.</p><p>The one in Carien Forest is still standing, untouched and preserved in the forest. At least, that’s what the village outside the forest said.</p><p>As a general rule of thumb, adventurers stay away from the Woodland Mansions. They’re dangerous and unknown, and Dream had always avoided any rumors of them for a long time. Yet he and George single-handedly took down a Pillager outpost easily and ever since, they’ve felt unstoppable. Fighting mobs as they walked through the dark forest feels more like a game than something necessary for survival. Dream and George either compete to see who can kill the most the fastest, or work near-flawlessly together to take the threats out as a team.</p><p>Together, they can handle anything.</p><p>That’s how they end up following the map to the fabled mansions, steps steady and sure in the late summer air. The trees block the sun, and a breeze sweeps consistently through the trunks, leaving them comfortably cool as they travel.</p><p>“Hey Gogy,” Dream breaks the comfortable silence.</p><p>George glances at the taller, giving a small hum to show he’s listening. In the soft, dappled light of the leaf-filtered sun, George is beautiful. His dark hair matches the deep chocolate-brown of the bark covering the dark oak trees around them, and the green of the leaves compliments his skin. Every so often they’ll pass a flower that Dream wants to pick and slip behind George’s ear. The blue cornflowers would bring out the warmth in his brown eyes, Dream is sure. Instead, he helps George collect the edible mushrooms he likes to add to their meals for extra flavor, and basks in the gentle heat of George’s pleased grin.</p><p>Dream points to a gorgeous waterfall ahead that drains into a small lake, framed picturesquely by slowly curving slopes on either side. The trees frame it, the blue of the water standing out even to Dream. “I think that’s the waterfall on the map, meaning we’re getting close,” he points to the charming drawn icon on the map, showing it to George before meeting his eyes. The brunet’s goggles are pushed atop his head, leaving his pretty eyes uncovered. Dream can’t get enough of George’s eyes. He wonders, not for the first time this week, probably not for the first time <i>today</i>, what George thinks when he sees the mask.</p><p>He doesn’t want to try and take the mansion on today, not with a full morning and afternoon of travel tiring them out. Before he can say anything, George’s eyes light up and he suggests, “We should spend the rest of the day at the lake, and then take on the mansion tomorrow. Who knows how long it’ll take?” The grin he sends Dream is happy and mischievous and excited. He’s not suggesting it out of fear of the mansion like he may have in the past. No, this is completely because he wants to take an entire half day lounging in a beautiful cove hidden in the middle of nowhere like the smug bastards they are.</p><p>Rolling up the map, he grins at George, eliciting a brighter smile to form on the other’s face. He’s got a light dusting of sunburn across the bridge of his nose and high on his cheekbones: the sun’s kiss leaving a lasting blush. Dream’s smile softens into something sappy before he breaks eye contact to look back out at the lake. It’s a bit of a ways away and the path there through the trees is winding and dark in some places一 it would be so easy to encounter mobs on the way. Even still一</p><p>“Race you there!” George exclaims, cutting him off. Joy bubbles from his words like the froth at the bottom of the waterfall, and he’s already taking off, feet digging into the ground and propelling him forward fast. Dream wheezes a laugh. He was about to say the same thing.</p><p>Then he realizes that George is already twenty feet ahead of him, and the gap is only getting bigger. In a heartbeat, he’s running too. The forest floor is singing in laughter under his boots, the earth rejoicing in their silliness, and Dream’s chest is flooded with pure happiness as he chases George.</p><p>The gap is slowly closing, Dream’s longer legs covering more ground than George, but the lake is fast approaching. He focuses in on the other’s back and pushes, forcing everything he has into running faster. He just has to get to George. He can do that.</p><p>Suddenly, the gap between them is barely a few feet. On some sort of autopilot, he leaps at the other, arms circling around his waist, and then they’re <i>both</i> tumbling onto the soft ground. George lets out a startled yelp before he’s laughing and shoving at Dream, wrestling on the forest floor like little kids. They roll around, not caring about the dirt that’s getting stuck to them, not caring about the racket they’re making, not caring about their responsibilities, only caring about the feeling of each other in their arms, their warmth and happiness. Eventually they roll to stop, George kneeling over Dream. They’re panting and tired. A root is digging into Dream’s back and his legs are starting to feel a bit like jelly.</p><p>He’s so, <i>so happy</i>.  Meeting George’s eyes he can’t help the smile he sends, probably extremely cheesy, too big. He can’t bring himself to care, not when the other’s eyes are pushed nearly shut with the force of his laughter. Then George collapses on his chest with another bout of laughter, and Dream’s accompanying laugh joins the melody, creating soaring melodies so sweet he can’t help but bask in them.</p><p>A few minutes later they stand up, picking up their packs from where they dropped them in their scuffle, and make their way to the lake. They walk close, close enough that their shoulders brush as they walk but it’s nothing new. They walk this close a lot. Dream likes knowing that George is there, safe and with him.</p><p>When they get to the shore, they both wordlessly start stripping out of their clothes. Dream tests the water and finds it icy cold compared to the warm summer air. The sun is finally visible in the break in tree cover, and Dream lets it warm his skin before he steps in. It sends chills up his spine, but soon enough he adjusts to it.</p><p>As they wash the grime off of their skin and out of their hair and then from their clothes, he and George chat. The words are meaningless but they mean so much to him. Before he met George, he spent so many years in silence. Now, he has someone who talks to him just to talk, and he listens to every word. Dream gently cradles every new and old piece of himself George gives him, and he stores them safely away like the treasures they are.</p><p>They talk and joke into the evening, shivering when they get out of the water and dry off sitting side by side on the rocky shore, bare shoulders slipping against each other from how close they sit. They let their clothes dry nearby, leaving them completely exposed, and when the sun begins to dip in the sky, catching the world as they know it alight in holy fire, Dream can’t help but drink in the sight of his best friend sitting next to him. The water still sticking to him catches the light like diamonds encrusted across his body, his skin underneath tanned and shining like pure gold. As he chats on about his deep-set hatred of cod, something Dream’s known about for a very long time, the blond watches the way his pink lips form the words, stretching over syllables, soft and just a bit chapped. Dream takes in the other’s familiar form, his lithe, muscled arms and his toned stomach. He lets his eyes trace a path down the other’s side, across the tantalizing pop of his hip bone and to his soft, pale thighs. The next breath he takes is a little unsteady, and he pulls his gaze away, plants it firmly back up to the other’s face.</p><p>George is looking at him with an eyebrow raised. He’s stopped talking. His lips are quirked in an attractive little smirk, and his eyes are highlighted a honey brown in the dying sun. “Like what you see?” He asks, humor apparent in his voice.</p><p>Dream feels his face flush, he knows his ears and neck are probably red, but he doesn’t look away. Instead, he replies, “Maybe I do,” and to a normal ear it sounds steady, stable even, but George knows him too well. Dream knows that the other will hear the slight husk to his voice, the way it shakes ever so slightly. Then, he watches something divine. George bites his lip, still smiling a bit, then soothes it with his tongue. His eyes flit across the mask then dip, burning a trail down his throat, picking out his scars and moles. When they meet eyes again, George just smiles and shakes his head, cheeks just a bit darker than they were earlier, and bumps their shoulders together. He doesn’t pull away, just lets their sun warmed skin press together, and goes back to talking about fish.</p><p>Dream looks resolutely out at the trees, at the water just below them, at the waterfall, at the sky, and lets himself be content with all that he already has. Having George like this, he’s realized, is all he needs.</p><p> </p><p>After an uneventful morning, the two make the short walk to the mansion. George’s armor is heavy on his shoulders, his crossbow and sword comforting weights on his back. His nerves are finally making an appearance and he finds himself fiddling with the leather straps of his bag. Outside of the most basic knowledge, they have <i>no clue</i> about what they’re getting into. It feels like wading into an uncharted ocean with pitch black water. In theory, it has ocean-adjacent things in it, but you have no clue what exactly those things are until they strike.</p><p>Dream, sensing his nervous energy, bumps into his shoulder with enough force to make him stumble. He shoots George a grin. “Come on, baby, we’ve got this.”</p><p>The name became commonplace for them a while ago. George isn’t sure how, but somehow it was just another name Dream called him. George, Gogy, baby, Georgie. There was more, but those were the most used. They all had their effects on him. “Baby” just so happens to make his breathing go shallow and make his entire system catch alight yet relax all at once, like Dream just set him on fire and it fixed every problem he’s ever had.</p><p>A lot of things Dream does has that effect on him.</p><p>Nonetheless, it helps to break through the anxiety that was making its home in his blood. He smiles up at Dream in thanks as his shoulders unhunch. He trusts Dream. It’ll be okay.</p><p>The first part of the mansion they see is just a wall of brown past the trees, shadowed and dark and hard to make out. The closer they get, the grander they learn it to be.</p><p>It doesn’t seem to end for forever, and it takes them a bit to find the entrance. There are no doors, which surprises George. He assumed that there would be heavy doors, maybe locks made from thick steel, he’s not sure. But instead, they’re free to walk right in.</p><p>The interior is filled with eerie, beautiful decor mixed with poor lighting; torches that don’t seem burned down at all; and pristine carpet that should, at least by the door, be covered in dirt. Immediately upon walking in, there’s a grand wood staircase, behind it empty space shrouded in darkness. At the sound of their footsteps, a creeper hisses nearby, before emerging from the area. In one fell swoop, Dream takes a step towards it and slices his axe across the thing’s front. When it doesn’t die, when it hisses louder in preparation of it’s explosion, George lodges a bolt in the dead center of it’s head. It crumples into dust in front of them, and they both grin. Dream sweeps the explosive powder into a jar they use to store the stuff and George picks up his bolt before they head down a hallway, into the unknown.</p><p>The first illager they find is a vindicator一 at least, that’s what George thinks it qualifies as. The thing is tall, a bit taller than Dream, and broad. Its bald head is large and its eyes look buggy.</p><p>It has a shining iron axe in hand, and its swings are ferocious. George gets the first hit in, his sword slicing a clean line across the things abdomen. It barely seems fazed, bringing its axe up and swinging it down hard enough that when George steps back, the weapon gets momentarily lodged in the floor. While it’s swinging at George, Dream takes the opportunity to hit it in its bulky shoulder. He manages to cut down to bone, and the thing lets out an angry grunt. For its size, it moves fast. In the blink of an eye, it has its axe out of the floor and flying full speed at Dream. The blonde raises his shield to block the hit.</p><p>It blocks the hit.</p><p>It also forces Dream to stumble back and lose his balance, leaving him open to an attack.</p><p>The thing raises its axe to swing again, to cut a chunk of flesh out of Dream’s unguarded side, and George knows that Dream’s far too good to actually be in any fatal danger right now, but that doesn’t stop him from seeing red.</p><p>His sword skewers the vindicator under its ribs, straight through its stomach. Black ichor stains the cloth of the grey robe the wraps around the creature. In a surprising display of strength, George plants both hands on the handle of his sword and rips sideways, opening a gaping wound in its abdomen and rendering it dead.</p><p>When it dies, it doesn’t turn to dust.</p><p>That little fact about illagers has always made George mildly uncomfortable.</p><p>He wipes the black ichor off of his sword and onto the carpet before turning to Dream, who’s rifling through the pockets on the corpse’s robe. He comes out with a handful of emeralds and a grin.</p><p>George can’t help but grin.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t come across any other illagers on the first floor, but they do find a few chests filled with various useful items, like golden apples and more emeralds. There are a few arrows, but they’d be useless in George’s crossbow so they leave them. In one of the chests, they find a diamond hoe, and Dream and George share a wide eyed look before breaking the handle off and stuffing the valuable head into their packs.</p><p>They climb the stairs to the second floor to find windows lining the corridor and some of the rooms. The sunlight is a welcome addition after the darkness of the first floor.</p><p>They have to deal with two more vindicators, each of which is just as large and powerful as the first. One doesn’t do anything more than get decapitated by Dream’s axe, the ichor spattering out of its stump neck spraying them both, leaving George gagging at the smell. They pull out a towel and wipe the sticky, black blood off of their faces and George takes a deep breath. It steadies him some, but he distracts himself further by thinking of the way Dream fought it. As he wipes the blood off of his arm he thinks of the power in Dream’s every strike, the grace and fluidity in the way he swung the axe. The ruthlessness as it slid, squelching and cracking, through the soft flesh and hard bone of the vindicator’s neck.</p><p>He hands Dream the partly ruined towel and watches as he gingerly wipes the sticky ichor off of his lips.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” he asks when he’s not in danger of getting the disgusting liquid in his mouth. George doesn’t think it’d hurt them, but it would be unnecessarily gross.</p><p>Despite just getting splattered in monster blood, despite taking the lives of dubiously human, once sane creatures, he grins. The adrenaline and power rush from killing something so much stronger than them makes his skin tingle, makes his blood rush.</p><p>“Just a little bit great.”</p><p> </p><p>The first evoker they find, they get the drop on it. They see it across the hall, hidden in what looks like a bedroom, staring at a wall blankly. It’s much smaller than the evokers, maybe even smaller than George. He shoots it with his crossbow, right into its temple, and it whirls on them, robes flapping out at the motion. It raises its arms up and all of the sudden, they’re surrounded by flying <i>somethings</i>.</p><p>“Vexes, fuck!” Dream shouts, slicing one out of the air with his axe. Dream dodges one and watches as it phases through the wall behind him.</p><p>“I didn’t think those existed,” George manages between swipes. One lands a sharp, stinging slash on his forearm, but he grits his teeth and skewers it with his sword. In the next swing, he hits two out of the air. Dream rushes the Evoker and lodges his axe straight into the top of the thing’s head. George can hear the splitting crack of bone. He pulls the crossbow out and shoots a vex that’s flying towards Dream, his aim spot on, and it falls out of the air, leaving nothing but his bolt to hit the floor. After a moment of breathing, Dream wrenches his weapon out with a small grunt.</p><p>When the other turns to him and sees his arm, he freezes. “George, you’re bleeding. Are you okay?” Dream asks, worrying lacing through his words, thicker than the blood still clinging to his weapon.</p><p>George laughs a bit. “Oh calm down you worrywart. I’m fine, it’s just a cut.” Even still, Dream makes him stop and, with gentle, careful, calloused hands, wraps the wound in white bandage. Outwardly, George rolls his eyes at the other’s ministrations, but inwardly, his heart melts. No matter what, Dream will look out for him. It makes everything wrong feel small in comparison.</p><p>Even in so much danger, he’s never felt safer in his life than he does with Dream.</p><p>Maybe that’s why he loves Dream.</p><p>They deal with four more vindicators on the third floor and two more evokers. One of the vindicators lands another heavy hit on Dream’s shield, and it splinters apart in his grip. They manage to take the first of the two evokers out from a distance, although the swarm of vexes manages to make a few sizable cuts on both him and Dream. The second one though catches them by surprise.</p><p>It first summons its vexes, and they cloud around Dream and George like pesky bugs. Without Dream’s shield, George works to make sure that Dream doesn't have an unprotected point, but it’s difficult. Meanwhile, Dream’s pulled his second axe off of his holster and is wielding them like they’re extensions of his body. George gets a sharp cut across his forehead, just above his brow bone.</p><p>He hits the thing out of the air, killing it easily, and blinks his eye shut to stop the blood from trickling down into his eye. Thanking the stars it’s not his dominant eye, he swats another out of the air. Dream is next to him, cutting as many out of the air as he can. One swoops down towards him but George smacks it out of the way with his shield. It’s then that he catches sight of the evoker, across the room, raising its arms to cast another spell. George braces himself for another flood of vexes, but it never comes.</p><p>The next moment feels like it’s in slow motion. George watches as a row of snapping wooden jaws with metallic teeth spring from the ground, growing closer, coming straight for them. Without a thought, he tosses his sword aside and pulls his crossbow out, already loaded and ready. At the same time, he grabs Dream’s arm and <i>yanks</i>. They both tumble out of the way in the nick of time. As they fall to the right, George aims and shoots his crossbow, pointing it purposefully wide to make up for their momentum. He prays to the wind for help.</p><p>The bolt embeds itself directly in the evoker’s eye with a wet squelch, and it drops dead. They land in a heavy pile and George is glad he somehow managed to avoid Dream’s axes as they fell. The last vex evaporates without its master there, and he lets out a deep breath from under Dream, letting his head thunk to the floor.</p><p>His forehead is still bleeding, and he pries a hand out from under Dream to wipe at it his eye. Generally, he feels fine, if a bit tired. It seems like a shallow cut, so it’s not a big deal. Head wounds just tend to bleed a lot.</p><p>Dream rolls off of him and sits up, and George is already sitting up and bracing for the litany of worried exclamations and fretting actions. The blond is just like that. He’s so reckless himself, but when it comes to George he freaks out over even a single bruise. </p><p>Maybe that’s why he loves Dream.</p><p>Dream insists on patching him up, his worrying hands dressing his wound messily but efficiently. In turn, George patches up Dream’s few wounds and reloads his crossbow before they sweep through the mansion again to make sure they got everything.</p><p>They reach the bottom floor, and it’s empty except for the various corpses. They did it.</p><p>“We did it,” Dream grins, mirroring his thoughts exactly.</p><p>Maybe that’s why he loves Dream.</p><p>A shot of warmth goes through him at that, at what they’ve managed. Dream is a drug, he’s a god and a man, he’s superhuman. He’s ruthless and gentle and perfect, in so many ways.</p><p>Maybe, George muses, <i>that’s</i> why he loves Dream.</p><p>
  <i>“I honestly don’t mind other fish but there’s just something so wrong about cod一” He glances over at the other only to see his face pointed down towards George’s body. He can’t see the other’s eyes, but there’s only one thing there to look at. He watches, enraptured, as Dream’s tongue darts out to wet his lip, only to drag it in between his teeth and bite down. The pressure paints the soft skin pink. When George finds his composure he takes a deep breath. “Like what you see?” he asks, voice inches away from shaking. The sun highlights every inch of Dream, crowning him king of the earth, hallowing him as a god. His skin, barely still wet, glistens in the sunset. His muscles are pulled taut where the other is stretched out on the rock, basking in the sun like a cat who got the cream.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Maybe I do,” he replies.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He sounds wrecked.</i>
</p><p>In an instant, he whirls on his best friend. Dream startles a bit, but George doesn’t care.</p><p>He pushes into the other’s space and stands on his toes and then he’s kissing Dream.</p><p>With the mask, it’s odd. His nose bumps against it and he has to tilt his head more than he’s used to to avoid it; even still, it’s perfect. It’s rough and gentle at the exact same time, like the burning warmth of a fire, and he pushes Dream into the wall a step behind them for something stable. After a startled intake of air, after one fraught moment when Dream is all too still, the taller starts kissing back like his life depends on it. He kisses like he’s moments from devouring George whole, sucking George’s bottom lip into his mouth and dragging his teeth along the skin. George shudders at the sensation before licking into the other’s mouth. The kiss tastes like the berries they had this morning and something bitter.</p><p>Distantly, he thinks it might be the vindicator blood that got on them when Dream sliced it’s head off.</p><p>While it’s definitely disgusting, it’s also kind of hot.</p><p>Their tongues slide against each other and it feels like heaven. It feels like being boiled alive. It feels like the high of winning a hard fight. It feels like一</p><p>They’re interrupted by the distinct groan of a zombie, and bubbling annoyance rushes his senses in the most impossible way.</p><p>How <i>dare</i> something so stupid interupt this trip he’s on?</p><p>Without a thought, he pulls his crossbow off his back and, barely turning away from Dream, only twisting his head over his shoulder enough to see, shoots a bolt straight into its open mouth.</p><p>He’s biting Dream’s lip before he even hears the body thud to the floor. Dream pulls away too quickly though, and George whines at the loss.</p><p>“That was so hot, baby,” the blond says, voice low and rough in a way that raises the hair on George’s neck in the best way possible.</p><p>George can’t help the annoyance in his voice as he shoots back, “Then why’d you stop kissing me, dumbass?”</p><p>Dream growls at that, lips pulling into a sharp grin that borders on a sneer. He dives back into the kiss, and it feels like George’s entire soul is being lit up by lightning. One of Dream’s hands rests low on his side, the other wrapping around his back, and George hates that their armor is keeping them from being pressed directly against each other.</p><p>Then, George is being flipped and his back comes in hard contact with the wall. His hands find Dream’s jaw, fingers digging into the base of his skull.</p><p>Soon, they’re gasping for air like they ran a marathon, and Dream starts to giggle. At first, George wants to be annoyed, but then <i>he’s</i> laughing, looping his arms around Dream’s shoulders, burying his head in the other’s neck. He’s always felt like he fits perfectly in the other’s arms.</p><p>They spend the rest of the day going through the mansions' various rooms, picking the chests for valuables and combing the libraries for information. They’re going slower than normal because they keep stopping. Dream will look over at him, then press him against a wall and kiss him until he can’t remember his own name, or George will grab Dream’s collar and yank him down into a kiss so filthy that their minds turn to rot. All they can think about is each other.</p><p>The sun sets eventually, and exhaustion from the hard day’s work in the stuffy mansion settles in around their bones like a heavy, thick blanket.</p><p>“Come on, Dream. We don’t need to keep watch. We can go into one of the well-lit rooms and move a chest in front of the doorway or something.” When it looks like Dream might protest, George shoots him his best puppy dog eyes. For added effect, he grabs one of Dream’s hands and starts gently rubbing his thumbs into the younger’s palm.</p><p>Dream relents. They lay out their bedrolls side by side and lay down together, tangling immediately like vines, and, finally out of their armor, lay chest to chest, fit together like puzzle pieces. Dream nips at George’s earlobe before kissing a trail of fire down his neck. He gasps at the feeling, and he can feel Dream smile against his skin. Then, he’s sucking and biting at George’s collarbone and the older can’t help the moan he lets out. He feels himself burning alive, becoming pure in the cleansing fire of the other’s attention. Like a phoenix, he’s burnt to ashes and made new in the Dream’s starlight; he’s only a man, basking in the presence of a god.</p><p>The kisses turn soft, sleepy as time goes on. Every touch feels less like it’s searing his skin off and more like a gentle whisper of adoration. The last thing he remembers before slipping off into a content sleep is the way Dream kisses his forehead, murmuring a soft, “Goodnight, baby.”</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Dream greets him good morning with a kiss, and George feels so perfectly content in the world. Everything was sideways before, and now it’s upright, and George can finally live exactly as he’s meant to. The process of combing the libraries is slow, but they get through the one on the second floor by midday. They break for lunch and it’s filled with their usual banter and too many touches and a few berry sweet kisses. They get through the third-floor library easier, but they don’t find anything of use on the Nether. They do find interesting information on enchanting and other magics, and George spends a good hour or so copying notes into his journal to look back at later.</p><p>No, the libraries don’t hold anything of use for their quests, much to both of their disappointment. They do find, however, something very, very useful on the body of an Evoker. They missed it yesterday because they never really took the time to loot their corpses. They were just too busy.</p><p>It’s a small charm, a figurine really, the size of his palm. It’s made of solid gold and encrusted with various jewels and gems and George recognizes it from the books as a totem of undying. They find one on the other two evokers too.</p><p>When they leave, they leave hand in hand. While they may not have found what exactly they were looking for, George feels pleased knowing he finally found something that is, in his opinion, far, far better.</p><p> </p><p>It’s about a week later. They’ve been traveling forwards, to hopefully another village that they can search for information, so their day’s been uneventful. For a lot of it, they walked hand in hand. The soft warmth of Dream’s continued, increased physical affection feels like a drug to George. He can’t get enough of the feeling of Dream’s hands, his palm in George’s, his fingertips tracing comforting lines in his skin, his calluses running rough against George’s sides. </p><p>At sunset, they set up camp. They eat dinner in companionable silence. George breathes in the clear air and smiles. How did he get so lucky? He reaches a hand out and grabs Dream’s, squeezing it gently and going back to eating.</p><p>A moment passes when George feels the other start to fidget beside him. He looks at Dream, ready to ask if something is wrong, but the blond just shoots George a reassuring smile and takes a spoonful of the rabbit stew they made. George goes back to eating too, but then Dream is pulling his hand out of George’s and he can’t help but look back at the other.</p><p>“What一” he starts to ask, but then Dream’s left hand is on the face of his mask and his right hand is on the leather strap, unclasping it.</p><p>George feels many things, in that moment. He feels panic; he doesn’t want Dream to feel pressured, he doesn’t want the other to think George expects this of him just because they’ve started kissing. He feels pride; George knows how hard it can be for Dream to open himself up fully, has spent late nights and many days talking about it. He feels so much else, an unnamable cocktail of emotions potent enough to be poisonous but he thinks he can sum it up as love.</p><p>Then, the mask is gone, and all George can do is drink in the image in front of him, the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.</p><p>Distantly, he thinks Dream mentioned he has freckles at one point. He’s certainly seen a few dusting the other’s shoulders, arms, back, and legs. But the ones covering the bridge of his nose look like art, like the most beautiful start he’s ever had the privilege to lay eyes on.</p><p>
  <i>He’s beautiful.</i>
</p><p>His brow is defined, slightly low on his face, sculpted to accentuate his eyes. There’s something hidden within the strength and set of the bone that’s delicate, and George wants to reach out and smooth his thumb over the thick, dark blond hair there.</p><p>
  <i>He’s beautiful.</i>
</p><p>Dream’s brows frame his eyes, and they’re beautiful. They’re larger and round, brighter than the sun and more captivating than any star in the sky. George can see every emotion laid plain in them.</p><p>Anxiety.</p><p>Joy.</p><p>Love.</p><p>“You’re beautiful.”</p><p>He takes in every feature. Dream looks both like he’s a statue carved in marble and like he’s as soft as the pine covered forest floor.</p><p>Dream smiles, a familiar smile that George adores.</p><p>It makes his eyes crinkle, and they glisten in the dying sun. His forehead smooths out. His nose scrunches a bit, for just a moment.</p><p>George is so, so in love.</p><p>Gently, like he’s about to touch the most important thing on the planet一 <i>he is,</i> his mind screams, and he’s inclined to agree一 he lays his palm flat against the other’s cheek. Dream’s skin is pale where it was hidden under the mask, and George can’t help but giggle as he ghosts his fingers over the tan line.</p><p>“You’re so, so beautiful.”</p><p>It’s all he can seem to say.</p><p>He watches the other blush, even as he lets out a happy laugh.</p><p>Maybe he can manage something else, something the other says so freely, but he barely ever returns.</p><p>“I love you, Dream.”</p><p>George watches as the other’s eyes widen, then shift into something so soft, so full of adoration, that it steals his breath.</p><p>“I love you too, George.”</p><p>Painted against the blazing oranges and reds and pinks of the weeping sunset behind them, they kiss, and George feels whole.</p><p>He never wants to let go again.</p><p>~*~</p><p>The heat of the Nether is unbearable.</p><p>It’s something Dream is coming more and more to understand.</p><p>It makes him feel weak, the fire licking away at his energy like a parched man sucking water down a dry throat.</p><p>Keeping track of time here is hard, but if he has to guess, they’ve been in the Nether for a little over two months at least. Their water supply is running low. They ran out of food weeks ago and have had to subsist off of hoglin meat only.</p><p>It’s beyond disgusting.</p><p>Dream pushes the thought away. Instead, he thinks of the bundles of blaze rods filling his bag, the Nether wart and soul sand filling George’s. He thinks of the things they’ve learned about potion brewing. He thinks about George beside him.</p><p>Somehow, Dream keeps going.</p><p>When they finally settle down for what they guess is the evening, they don’t talk. Talking scratches against their too-dry throats and they’re rationing their water for any worst case scenarios. Dream knows he’s radiating tension. He knows he is by the way his shoulders hunch, the way his jaw hurts from clenching it.</p><p>George is too.</p><p>It’s so, so hot.</p><p>As they eat hoglin for the nth day in a row, George leans against Dream.</p><p>It’s hot, but somehow it helps.</p><p>Dream isn’t alone. He can’t give up, because he has to get them out. He can’t give up because that would leave George to get them out on his own, and Dream can’t do that to him.</p><p>He kisses George’s sweat stained forehead, ignoring the steady layer of soot covering his skin. George smiles at him, and it’s pained and worried and strained, but it’s full of love.</p><p>“I love you,” Dream manages, his voice scratchy from disuse and the heat.</p><p>It’s <i>so</i> hot.</p><p>Dream looks up from their little corner to see the red stone of the ceilings, and he misses the stars. He misses them so desperately.</p><p>Even still, he’d stay in the Nether forever if it was the only way he could keep George.</p><p>He’d trade every star in the night sky for George’s happiness.</p><p>“I love you too, Dream.”</p><p>Dream takes first watch and George falls asleep with the head resting on Dream’s lap. They can’t use bedrolls in the Nether without them catching fire.</p><p>They make do.</p><p>Somehow, in all of the heat and the hopelessness of being stuck in literal hell, Dream finds comfort in running his fingers through George’s dirty, messy, overgrown hair.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Time marches onwards and the war takes more from George than he’s ever had in the past. He spends all of his time in the med tents, working tirelessly.</p><p>He saves people.</p><p>He watches people die.</p><p>He cries at night.</p><p>He doesn’t think Dream notices.</p><p> </p><p>Every day is a new battle. No matter how confident in the cause he is, the constant stress is grating on Dream. He spends hours a day battling, fighting, training. When he isn’t, he’s planning. He doesn't see George much.</p><p>It’s selfish, but he wishes the other would just whisk him away on a trip. He wishes the other would drop his responsibilities and take him into the woods, into the past, and kiss him until he can’t think一 he wishes George would take him into the wilderness and hold him until he feels whole again.</p><p>Obviously, that can’t happen.</p><p>Instead, they’re left with sleepless nights where George pretends he isn’t crying, so Dream pretends he can’t tell.</p><p>Instead, they talk at meals and at training and smile at each other like everything is okay when it’s not.</p><p>Really, it was only a matter of time before a stray arrow landed and shattered the false pretenses.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a cloudy night on a rare occasion in which the two heroes are walking back to their tent together. Dream aches for normality. He wants George to look less tired. He wants the other to smile at him like he used to.</p><p>So he pushes.</p><p>“Ya know, Georgie,” Dream says, voice a lilting, fake contemplative. “It looks like it’s gonna storm tonight.”</p><p>George hums. “I suppose so, yes.”</p><p>Dream knocks his shoulder into the shorter, and it makes him stumble.</p><p>“What was that for?” he grumbles, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.</p><p>Going for nonchalance in an attempt to hide the panic he feels at the other’s response, he forces an easy shrug. “Felt like it.”</p><p>George just rolls his eyes. “Anyways, what were you saying about the weather?” he deadpans.</p><p>After a moment’s consideration where Dream deeply contemplates giving up entirely, he replies. “Oh, yeah,” he says, keeping his voice cool. “It’s gonna storm, so I was gonna say you could sleep with me tonight. So, y’know,” he continues, letting his words take on a more jovial tone, “you won’t get scared.”</p><p>It’s a well-meant joke.</p><p>It’s toeing a fragile line because he’s stressed.</p><p>Maybe it’s even a cry for help.</p><p>Dream regrets it the second he sees something close to indignation flash in the other’s eyes. “Are you mocking me, Dream?”</p><p>The question unbalances him. “Wait, what? No, no. I’d never.”</p><p> </p><p>George is <i>tired</i>.</p><p> </p><p>“Really? Doesn’t seem that way. I guess I probably can’t tell though, seeing as I haven’t seen you take off your mask in three days.”</p><p>Dream startles at that. When did he stop taking the mask off the second he entered their tent? When did he start trying to fall asleep in it?</p><p>Three days ago, apparently.</p><p>He can’t focus on that though, not until later. Instead, Dream says the first thing that comes to mind. “Maybe if you weren’t holed up in those med tents all day, you’d actually see me some time.”</p><p> </p><p>George is so unbelievably tired.</p><p>He wants someone to hurt.</p><p>Whether that someone is himself or Dream, he couldn’t say.</p><p>Maybe that’s why he snaps.</p><p> </p><p>The way George stops in his path makes Dream’s blood run cold.</p><p>“Dream,” he starts, and his voice is dangerous, perfectly controlled in a warning. “The very reason why I stand in those tents all day? It’s you. People like you are out there fighting a stupid battle for the sake of their pride and people are dying for it. People like you could stop it all, but you’re all too caught up in your own reflections to notice the blood on your hands!”</p><p> </p><p>Dream flinches.</p><p>George regrets it immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“I- I- I’m so sorry,” George whispers. “I don’t know what came over me. I think I’m just- I’m tired.”</p><p>Dream can’t say anything though. <i>You’re too caught up in your own reflection to notice the blood on your hands.</i></p><p>After a minute of silence, Dream finally manages to force out, “I’m going to go get some fresh air.” On shaky legs that form perfectly steady steps, he walks away.</p><p> </p><p>George lets him go. </p><p>He watches Dream walk away.</p><p> </p><p>Dream can’t tell if he’s upset or relieved at George’s silence. He can’t tell if it would even matter.</p><p> </p><p>George is pacing their tent. It’s been about an hour and the sky’s gone dark and all he can feel is deep, twisting anxiety eating away at his gut.</p><p>He didn’t mean it.</p><p>Or maybe he did, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s taking it back.</p><p>He wishes he could take it all back.</p><p>All he wants is Dream back. He wants to see Dream’s beautiful face. He wants to hold Dream’s callused hands.</p><p>He wants Dream一</p><p>The flap of the tent pulls open, and the first thing he sees is the familiar, safe smiley juxtaposed against Dream’s anxious frown.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” they both say, and then smile.</p><p>They always had a tendency to say what the other was thinking.</p><p>“I’m sorry for what I said,” George continues. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I think I just don’t really know how to handle this much death.”</p><p>Dream nods, his mask pulled off showing the bags under his eyes and the new worry lines forming between his brows.</p><p>“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to make you upset with the joke. Even still, it was insensitive.”</p><p>George cracks a smile. “I know you didn’t.”</p><p>“So we’re okay?”</p><p>They aren’t.</p><p>It’s obvious that they’re not, but George wants them to be so badly. Maybe if he just pretends that they’re <i>okay一</i></p><p>Maybe they’ll be okay.</p><p>“Of course.” George takes a deep breath, looking directly into Dream’s eyes. “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream wants it to be true.</p><p>So he chooses to imagine that George’s smile and tone are the ones he used on the Hunt.</p><p>“I love you too,” he says, and he pretends like he means it like he used to.</p><p>Dream pretends that it’s not a desperate plea.</p><p>He pretends, he pretends, he pretends.</p><p>“I love you,” he begs.</p><p>“I love you,” he cries.</p><p>“I love you,” he lies.</p><p>Or, maybe, it’s still true.</p><p>Whatever it is that’s still in his chest, it’s eating him alive.</p><p>Is that love?</p><p>He can’t quite remember.</p><p>Dream pretends like he does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Could you tell I was sleep deprived writing this? If the answer is no, that's the biggest win of the 21st century no cap. I'm really proud I managed to finish this before I fell asleep tonight.<br/>Anyways, as always feel free to talk to me on tumblr @honkschnoo and now on Twitter @crappyravioli<br/>Also if you need something to sate you will you wait for chapter seven, I highly recommend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28220787/chapters/69153828"> To be Seen, To Be Known</a> by the always lovely Sheepfriend, my sister and editor! heads up tho, it is Dreamnotnap, not just Dnf. Anyways I think you should all check it out it's really good so far imo~<br/>Thank you all as always for all of the lovely comments and Kudos, they make my day. I love talking to/ interacting with you guys!!! Thanks sm for reading!!!!!! ALSO IM SORRY :DDD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Centaurus and Lupus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>It is empty, Achilles, so end it all now</i>
  <br/>
  <i>It's a pointless resistance for you</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OH MY GOD<br/>this took <i>so  l o n g</i>  to write I STG I probably was writing for like, 20+ hours and it's not even the longest chapter so far I don't think. Idk why it took so long but I think it's really good? And I really really hope you guys like it? Bc I worked really super hard on it! That said, I have some not great news!! I'm getting Cubital Tunnel Syndrome!!! Essentially bc I was typing for too long last night my arms/hands went numb &lt;3<br/>That said, I'm still making the decision to stick with weekly updates, this time though I'm moving them permanently to Saturday so I can focus more on school during the week~  I hope y'all understand!! If the cubital tunnel syndrome gets worse I might change it but im looking into ways to help! If it gets in the way of updating (or if any change to updates occurs) I'll let you all know on my tumblr (honkschnoo) and my twitter (crappyravioli). You guys can also ask me questions and talk to me on there if you want!!!<br/>Thank you all so so so much for your lovely comments and kudos, they give me life!!<br/>(Also if you want to listen to the <b>playlists</b> i listen to while I write this, you can click <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3sqSmLhctjkOc1ve7pekCf?si=YiIJjRcURrurLJ6rANLYQQ"> here! </a> I also listen to <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6QqsGUNJAIAtuis4zDIf9e?si=1b_vy9U8SjymIvOKfvQpIQ"> this </a>while writing the fight scenes!)<br/>This chapter is a real rollercoaster so I hope you like it!!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Another soldier, incapacitated on the table in front of him. George looks at the wound, a thick gash down her side paired with a broken rib. He stitches the wound carefully but quickly, smearing a numbing poultice along the area to help with the pain. With steady, impatient hands, he wraps her waist in white bandage before rushing to help the next person.</p>
<p>There’s a line out the front of the tent.</p>
<p>Each hour, a few more people die.</p>
<p>George is going to vomit.</p>
<p>George keeps working.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dream!” Tommy sings when he catches sight of the masked man. His sword is dyed a deep crimson, and there are splatters of blood decorating his torn uniform. Dream catches sight of his eyes, focused and filled with determination yet so indescribably tired, almost haunted.</p>
<p>He looks both young and old, and for a moment, Dream is looking at himself in the weeks after his village died. Scared yet determined. Broken apart at his seams.</p>
<p>“Your side seems pretty beat up,” the young warrior continues, lips curling into a vicious grin, and suddenly any sympathetic thought is pushed out of his head as white hot anger threatens to lace through his system.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep breath and lets calm wash over him. An angry fighter is as good as dead. Anger is weakness, just like any other emotion on the battlefield, and while Tommy might not know it yet, Dream’s not willing to take the risk. “Oh come on, Tommy, we’re tougher than we seem,” he drawls, slowly beginning to circle the other. “Anyways, I know as well as everyone here that L’Manburg can’t keep this up.”</p>
<p>At the words, Tommy involuntarily winces, a movement so small Dream wouldn’t have caught it had he not been looking. He watches as the other centers himself, something steely cementing in his blue eyes. “<i>We</i> are the ones who are stronger than we seem,” he shoots back, and then he’s lunging in at Dream with speed.</p>
<p>Something is bubbling under his skin.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s all of the pain, the bloody screams of the battlefield filling his ears. Maybe it’s the unrest of the sky, stormy blue-grey clouds crackling with unheard lightning above them. Maybe it’s the weeks of unresolved tension and discomfort between him and George.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s because, back in their tent, he’s hidden away the delicate, prized discs that Tommy’s been allegedly looking for desperately.</p>
<p>In the past, he’s held back a bit. Partially, it’s because despite everything, he holds a modicum of respect for the boy in front of him. Mostly though, it’s that fighting Tommy has been <i>fun</i>.</p>
<p>Dream’s done having fun.</p>
<p>He knocks Tommy’s sword away with excessive power and realizes that maybe, maybe he’s a little angry.</p>
<p>If he can’t get rid of it, he might as well lean into it.</p>
<p>As Tommy recovers his balance and swings, Dream bashes his shield into the other’s oncoming sword. He throws his weight into it, body slamming the other back. Faster than lightning, the wind at his back rippling with energy, the earth under him bubbling with the blood of the fallen, Dream pulls himself back and plunges his axe forward. It flies straight towards Tommy’s neck, and the other barely manages to bring his shield up to block it. The force sends him reeling back, and Dream takes the opportunity to sling his shield across his back, pulling his second axe out to replace it.</p>
<p>The itch under his skin is stronger, the nightmare he keeps careful control of rearing its head. It’s dangerous, Dream knows, to let go to it. Letting it take control means he barely has any say over his actions一 all of his motions are instinctual, poised to kill unless Dream cares about the person he’s fighting. Dream will let his instincts take over when he’s fighting George because he trusts the other to take care of himself, and he knows himself too well to think he’s at all capable of hurting George that way.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think that the monster in him would hesitate, given the chance to kill Tommy.</p>
<p>Dream shouldn’t care.</p>
<p>
  <i>Why does he care?</i>
</p>
<p>But he doesn’t care, he tells himself. A deep breath in, a moment in the present, solidifies that.</p>
<p>(It doesn’t. He doesn’t want to kill the boy.)</p>
<p>Tommy is his biggest enemy.</p>
<p>He doesn’t care.</p>
<p>(He does.)</p>
<p>It’s his job, to kill Tommy.</p>
<p>Dream is going to be the one to kill一</p>
<p>He pushes the thoughts out.</p>
<p>Tommy’s back on his feet and Dream lashes out with one axe after the other. His left axe swings lightning quick towards the blond’s stomach, the second immediately swinging out to meet his opponent’s incoming blade. Tommy blocks his first axe with his shield, and the wood splinters under the weight of the hit.</p>
<p>While Tommy is distracted by the sharp ringing of the blades sliding against each other and the temporary inability to use his shield, Dream kicks straight out, heavy boot colliding painfully with the other’s unprotected stomach.</p>
<p>“I’m getting to you,” Tommy says with a cough and a pained smirk, taking a step back, still hunched in a protective fighting stance.</p>
<p>Dream’s skin prickles with energy. “I’d be careful if I were you, Tommy,” he says, voice even and warm, almost caring if not for the sharp edge hidden clearly within them.</p>
<p>Tommy laughs. “You never call me Tommy. I’m getting to you,” he says, incredulous joy and pride lacing his words.</p>
<p>Electricity dances down his spine, and he knows it’s a lost battle.</p>
<p>He makes one final attempt. “I don’t think that’s the victory you think it is.” Dream’s voice is low, a warning clear as day, but Tommy is too incompetent to notice.</p>
<p>“You just say that because I’m winning. Come on now, Dream, don’t get messy on me,” he says with a grin, posture set and assured.</p>
<p>Dream sees it, and he’s done. The nightmare slowly slips into place, and everything goes calm.</p>
<p>The air crackles with the oncoming storm. By now, the sky’s darkened to a near black, and the wind is whipping through the battles like chaos incarnate. Everywhere, there are the shouts of battle, the howls of pain, the discordant clang of weapons.</p>
<p>But for Dream, everything is peaceful.</p>
<p>He tilts his head, posture falling loose and lanky, and he rolls his shoulders. Against his will, a grin splits his face. Dream watches as Tommy’s eyes widen and go confused, fear sparking just under the surface. He sees the way that the other’s hand grips the sword just a bit tighter, flexing and going white for a brief second. It’s all covered just as fast as it showed up, but Dream saw it.</p>
<p>He’s scaring Tommy. It makes his grin wider.</p>
<p>“If I were you, Tommy,” he hears himself say, feels the words rumble out of his chest, “I’d call your retreat to spare yourself a lot of pain.” In that moment, lightning shatters the sky behind him, lighting the earth in a flash of white light. Thunder cracks through the air, heralding his words as those of the universe and all it’s pawns. “I’m done playing.”</p>
<p>Then Dream lunges.</p>
<p>His axe swings at Tommy and catches him in the arm, even with the other moving out of his way as fast as he could. His second axe follows the first and swings at Tommy’s waist. Tommy blocks with his shield, and the wood splinters where his axe hits. Before the other can recover, he’s already swinging again, this time straight down. Tommy raises his sword, blocking the hit by knocking it to the side. He ducks out of the way of a follow up hit. As Dream steps back to steady himself, he feels a sharp pain in his calf. He ignores it. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, really, no matter how deep. He can still walk and that’s all that matters.</p>
<p>As Tommy starts to stand from his crouched position, Dream kicks out with his uninjured leg, directly at the younger’s shield. It sends him tumbling backward, which he handles with grace, taking the momentum and rolling backwards into a standing position. It doesn’t matter though, because while he was regaining his footing, Dream was already acting. Tommy starts to roll backwards and Dream takes a deep breath. Then, with a great heave, he launches his axe straight up into the black, lightning-marbled sky overhead. It sails upwards, and in the moments of time it’s out of his hand, in the moments as Tommy starts to stand, he grabs a knife from his belt and aims and throws.</p>
<p>Three things happen in quick succession, then.</p>
<p>First, Tommy rolls into an upright position, once again on his feet.</p>
<p>Second, Dream’s axe falls, falls, falls, and Dream snatches it out of the air like it weighs nothing.</p>
<p>Third, a shout of pain, as the knife embeds itself in Tommy’s left thigh. The boy curls into himself for a moment, before straightening, determination setting his features in a scowl.</p>
<p>Without hesitation, Dream starts forward again.</p>
<p>No mercy for a threat as venomous as Tommy.</p>
<p>No mercy for a person as conceited as the other.</p>
<p>No mercy for a child oh, so proud.</p>
<p>Tommy swings his sword at Dream, but he swats it out of the air like a gnat with his right axe. With his still-raised arm, he uses his elbow to bash Tommy in the nose. He swings his left axe low, and Tommy barely blocks it with his shield.</p>
<p>The other takes a step back, clearly disengaging from combat. He’s got blood dripping down his nose and his eyes are full of fear and pain.</p>
<p>Dream wants to take chase. The blood running through his veins pounds in his ears in time with the thunder eating the world alive around him. His skin tingles with the urge to leap. Every inch of his body is coiling, getting ready. Dream can feel his pulse spiking in excitement. He wants to take this chance. He wants to finish Tommy一</p>
<p><i>No一</i><br/>Visceral disgust barrels through his system; he feels like he was just hit by a ghast with a sulfur-thick fireball. All of his nerves alight, and he fights the urge to vomit.</p>
<p>Somehow, through the distance, Dream gets control of the monster in him.</p>
<p>It feels like his hands are scrabbling and clawing at pure fire, burning his skin and pulling his nails out of their beds, dripping in blood. His skin is peeling up. To Dream, it feels like he’s putting an explosion in a box, but somehow, against all odds, he manages.</p>
<p>That was <i>too far.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p><i>They honor disengaging,</i> he tells himself. <i>I can’t break honor,</i> he reasons, <i>not after it’s been so thoroughly established.</i></p>
<p>Realistically, Dream knows it’s the terror. Tommy’s looking at him like he’s a monster, and he’s not wrong.</p>
<p>He can still feel the high of the adrenaline rush sending waves of shivers across his skin. He can still feel the anticipation on his tongue, and it tastes like blood.</p>
<p>Tommy’s just a <i>kid</i>.</p>
<p>After everything, Dream didn’t hesitate to try and kill someone so young.</p>
<p>A nightmare hidden within the depths of a dream.</p>
<p>After a minute of fraught staring, Tommy calls the retreat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When George finally leaves, it isn’t because he’s done.</p>
<p>There are still dozens of untreated soldiers nursing large gashes and stabs wounds and concussions. The room stinks of blood and smoke and herbs. George would stay there forever if it meant saving one more person.</p>
<p>But no.</p>
<p>When he sees Sapnap enter the tent, a spike of anxiety blooms in his chest like dark blood dispersing into water. But, like blood in water, it fades into the vast nothing as he sees the other’s tired gaze scan the tent and land on him. Sapnap sends him a harrowed smile, exhausted and broken but warm nonetheless, and nods to him to come over.</p>
<p>Something about the insistence tempered by fatigue in his eyes makes George think it’s not just to chat.</p>
<p>He shoots the other a small nod and a look he hopes says, <i>Give me a minute,</i> before returning to what he was doing.</p>
<p>Carefully, he finishes bandaging the patient’s arm, shifting it into a sling held close to their body. He gently props them up and ushers them out, before slipping through the mass of people to his friend.</p>
<p>“Hey George, sorry to pull you from this,” Sapnap murmurs gently as they start walking, giving no further explanation.</p>
<p>“It’s, uh一 it’s no problem?” he starts, taking in the wounds and bruises littering Sapnap’s skin. “Sapnap, what’s going on?”</p>
<p>The other sighs. “The King wants to speak to you. To all of us.”</p>
<p>George feels anxiety rush through him. Sure, technically he ranks as a General, and of course when they train, he helps Dream with their squadron. But he hasn’t been out on the field in what was probably at least a month. He’s not sure why he was pulled from something as important as saving lives, but he supposes he has to trust.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>They walk in silence, and George notices that Sapnap has a slight limp on his left side.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not fair.</i>
</p>
<p>They keep walking.</p>
<p>When they reach the King’s tent, Sapnap opens the flap for him, which he nods gratefully for.</p>
<p>Immediately, his eyes find Dream. Even bending under the weight of their problems, George cares about Dream. He loves Dream like a parched man loves water, even when he’s being drowned in it, even when it’s killing him. George is drawn to the masked man like a magnet, and every fiber of his being loves every fiber of Dream.</p>
<p>Of course, the second his eyes land on him, he can see tension lacing through his shoulders and causing his jaw to clench. He immediately notices the way Dream is shaking his heel and rolling his shoulders. He sees the blood covering his clothes, sees the excess near the bottom of his right leg, and knows he’s hiding a bad wound. George can see just how stressed Dream is, and it breaks his heart.</p>
<p>For a moment, he lets himself forget about all of their problems. He just wants Dream to be able to relax, to be happy. That’s never changed, and it won’t ever change.</p>
<p>George sits in the spot next to Dream, and the other barely looks up. Part of him stings at what feels like a dismissal, but the part of him that’s too tired to be upset looks past it. Dream’s not here right now, it finds. Dream is somewhere deep, deep inside his head.</p>
<p>On the Hunt, George would climb into Dream’s lap, push the mask up and rest their foreheads together. He’d set one of Dream’s hands on his chest and tell him to match his breathing. He’d make sure Dream was looking at him, focusing on him, until he felt safe enough to tell him about it.</p>
<p>They’re sat around a long table in one of King Technoblade’s tents though, not alone on the Hunt, so George does what he can.</p>
<p>Dream’s hand is callused and familiar against his own. Dry blood flakes onto George’s clean skin. It’s warm.</p>
<p>It’s safer than he’s felt in a long time.</p>
<p>His friend finally looks up at him, and it looks like he tries to smile, but he’s failing miserably. George can picture the way his eyebrows pinch, the way his eyes droop in exhaustion and pain. Still, George smiles encouragingly back, squeezing Dream’s hand.</p>
<p>“So,” Techno begins, voice flat and firm, “I called you all here today to talk strategy…”</p>
<p>As he continues to explain, Dream’s hand remains a steady, warm weight in his, hidden beneath the table but there nonetheless. That’s what matters, that they’re both here一 that they’re both still alive despite it all.</p>
<p>So long as they’re both alive, they can get through this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George was, in fact, needed at the meeting.</p>
<p>“Dream, George, Sapnap, and Quackity, you four’ll be interceptin’ some of L’Manburg’s highest rankin’ Generals in their escape tunnels after tomorrow’s battle. Eret’ll be with them to make sure they go to the right place. So long as you’re not gettin’ injured, do as much damage as you can.”</p>
<p>George can feel Dream’s hand flexing in his under the table.</p>
<p>“So we’re just going to be hiding in the tunnel while everyone fights?” Sapnap asks, voice filled with incredulity.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna go down pretty early on. We don’t want you all to not be prepared when they call their retreat,” Techno replies, and the words are final in a way that clearly says that it’s not up for debate.</p>
<p>Dream, of course, speaks up. “They’ll know something is up if I’m not fighting.”</p>
<p>Techno’s eyes flash to Dream and George swallows in sympathy. The King’s glare is hard but Dream’s posture has shifted into a false facade of poise and security. If George didn’t know every muscle in Dream’s body as acutely as he did, he wouldn’t be able to tell that it’s all fake.</p>
<p>But he can, and it is.</p>
<p>“I saw what you did today to Tommy,” Techno replies, and George feels Dream tense next to him. “That kid’ll be more than happy to accept your lack of presence on the field as a gift from the gods.”</p>
<p>Dream snorts in forced amusement, but George can tell that something about this conversation is hitting every reason Dream was upset when he first came in. “If you saw what happened, then you’ll know that I was the reason they called the retreat.” The room is quiet, and after a moment, Dream grins a sneer so full of every bitter emotion he’s ever felt that George can barely stop himself from physically recoiling. “What’s to say that they even call a retreat tomorrow without me on field to make them?” He asks, and every word is dripping with venomous malice and false bravado.</p>
<p>Whatever Dream did to Tommy, and George has a pretty good guess as to what that was, shook him so deeply that he’s lashing out like a cornered animal. George is just glad that he’s not the target.</p>
<p>“This isn’t up for debate, Dream. This is final. You’re all dismissed,” Techno spits.</p>
<p>In the end, they get out fast.</p>
<p>George knows he should go back to the med tent. They need all the help they can get with all of the injured people probably still waiting to get help. Then, he thinks of Dream next to him, still holding his hand despite being on the open path in front of all the other Generals, just too tight to be casual. He thinks of Dream, with the wound on his leg that needs cleaned and taken care of. Dream, with the mental damage of carrying an unjust war on his shoulders.</p>
<p>George follows Dream to their tent wordlessly, hands never separating.</p>
<p>When they get inside, Dream pulls the mask off roughly, and George can finally see his expression.</p>
<p>It <i>hurts</i>.</p>
<p>It hurts more than any argument they’ve had, more than any way Dream has slighted him.</p>
<p>George just wants them to be happy, gods damn it.</p>
<p>Why are they doomed like this?</p>
<p>He takes a deep breath to recenter himself.</p>
<p>“Can you sit down so I can have a look at your leg?” George asks, voice gentle. He isn’t going to talk about what happened on the field unless Dream brings it up first. The other clearly doesn’t want to think about it.</p>
<p>Reluctantly letting go of his hand, Dream pulls his armor off methodically, before moving to take his pants off. George wishes his head didn’t send him to instances over the past years where he’d mirror the blond’s actions, excitement drumming through his veins. It hurts because now, all he feels is a deep ache as scars and half-healed wounds are revealed that George can’t place.</p>
<p>When the wound on his right leg is revealed, covered in a hastily tied, soaked-through rag, George wants to gag. When it’s removed, it looks <i>deep</i>. It’s open and weeping crimson down Dream’s leg. The air in their tent is stuffy despite the early autumn breeze cooling the world outside, and the scent of blood fills the space like toxic fumes, familiar as anything but suffocating nonetheless.</p>
<p>Carefully, George, medical supplies in hand, kneels in front of Dream where he’s sat down on his cot, positioned between his legs a foot or so back. He begins wiping away the excess blood, motions softer than he’s afforded any patient in the medical tents. As he drags the cloth gently around the area surrounding the wound, he dips it into a small dish of water to get the blood out. The water turns pink, then darkens. As the blood in the bowl builds, so does George’s anxiety. </p>
<p>There’s so much blood. He’s surprised that Dream didn’t leave a trail of it as he walked, a puddle of it where he sat in Techno’s tent. It steadily seeps from the gash, thick and sticky and dark and George wants to vomit. It’s going to need stitches, and it’s clear that he’s already lost a lot of blood.</p>
<p>“Dream?” he calls to the other, not looking up, careful to keep the worry out of his voice. The rag that was previously covering the wound is soaked with blood, saturated so heavily that a small puddle is forming where it’s sat on the ground. The leg of his pants is also stained with blood in a large patch around the tear.</p>
<p>The blond makes a noise of acknowledgement, a hum that’s soft in the quiet air.</p>
<p>“How long has this been bleeding?” he asks, and his voice wavers slightly.</p>
<p>Dream is silent, and George looks up from his careful ministrations, panicked, afraid that the other is zoning out or worse passing out from blood loss. He’s reassured though to see the other is just looking away, eyes focused but filled with guilt. A new wave of anxiety hits when he processes what that means.</p>
<p>“<i>How long?</i>” he repeats, voice firm, covering his panic to the best of his abilities. He knows it’s not enough when he sees the guilt grow on Dream’s face as he winces.</p>
<p>“Probably close to two hours?” he answers, voice high, pitched with remorse into a question.</p>
<p>George goes cold.</p>
<p>It’s still bleeding steadily.</p>
<p>“How many rags have you gone through?” His panic is slowly seeping up to the surface, but there’s not much he can do about it besides take a deep breath. The dusty, heavy air doesn’t do much in his lungs, sits thick in his chest and it isn’t enough.</p>
<p>Dream blinks at him. “I- uh. I think three?” he replies, but this time the question isn’t bred from guilt, rather confusion, a clear sign of blood loss.</p>
<p>George forces air into his body and closes his eyes. He can’t lose it right now. Dream is just another patient, and he has to be calm and collected and efficient if he wants to make sure the other isn’t going to pass out. He steadies his hands and reaches up and grabs the other’s hand.</p>
<p>Immediately, Dream latches on like George is his life line, and it hurts.</p>
<p>It hurts even more when he has to disconnect their hands. Dream makes a confused, pained noise but George just shifts his grip to the other’s wrist, finding his pulse quickly. It’s going faster than normal, but he can feel it, which means Dream’s not on death’s door. The more George listens, the more he can place Dream’s breathing as shallow, painstakingly measured and just too fast.</p>
<p>He roots through his bag and pulls out two health potions一 real, actual health potions一 and hands them to Dream.</p>
<p>“Drink, now.” He makes sure his words carry no room for argument. Dream just nods at him and George hates the way his normally golden skin is dipping pale. He’s not entirely sure how the other isn’t passed out, but he thanks the stars for it. Dream’s lost far too much blood, but George has always thought the other had a knack for the impossible.</p>
<p>Dream drinks the first potion unsteadily, but still manages to grimace at the taste.</p>
<p>“Do I have to drink the second,” Dream asks, voice still weak. George pulls in another steadying breath, pushes out the fondness and terror he feels for the other.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he replies shortly.</p>
<p>Dream just nods before drinking it too.</p>
<p>After that’s done, George turns back to the wound. It’s deep and still bleeding through the cloth he’s holding against it. He pulls the damp cloth away and dips it in the water, turning it a violent red. Running one last pass over the bleeding wound, George pulls his suture kit out and sterilizes it in the fire.</p>
<p>Dream looks squeamishly at the needle, displeased at the premise of being stitched up again.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Dream,” he murmurs, “This is gonna hurt.” George proceeds to pour alcohol onto the wound, and Dream’s strangled cry rips through his chest like a perfectly placed stab. After the wound is clean, he roots around his bag and pulls out a small wad of cloth. “Bite down on this.” Dream does with practiced familiarity and George takes the needle from the fire, burning his hands a bit in the process, and he starts stitching.</p>
<p>The needle glides through his skin, barely catching, but when it does George winces in sympathy. As he works, Dream lets out various groans and shouts of pain, muffled by the cloth in his mouth. George works quickly, efficiently, but blood still drips out of the wound, all the way until the very last stitch is in place.</p>
<p>By the time he’s done, Dream is breathing heavily and his skin is clammy under George’s touch. He runs soothing hands across the other’s leg, feeling the ghosts of older scars on his skin, as much for Dream’s sake as his own.</p>
<p>How close has he come to losing Dream in this war?</p>
<p>How many times was his life threatened?</p>
<p>How many times has it driven a wedge between them?</p>
<p>How much longer can they last under the pressure of it all before they break?</p>
<p>With Dream safe, still sitting above him and propping himself up on his hands behind his back, he lets his composure break. His breathing goes shaky and he can feel tears well in his eyes.</p>
<p>“You’ve gotta stop. Please Dream. You’ve gotta take care of- of yourself,” George forces out, and his words are quiet and unsteady. “I don’t know what I’d do if you- if you一” he cuts himself off.</p>
<p>Dream lost <i>so much blood.</i></p>
<p>If George went back to the med tent一</p>
<p>A sob wrenches out of his chest, a vice grip wrapping tightly around his lungs and squeezing. He can’t breathe.</p>
<p>George squeezes his eyes shut to quell the tears, but dancing against the black of his eyelids is the image of Dream, trapped somewhere dark in his head, walking into their tent alone and poorly wrapping the cut, maybe messily stitching it in a way that doesn’t fully stop the bleeding. Worse even would be Dream, <i>completely alone</i>, hurting and lost, lying down without a second thought to his wound, bleeding and bleeding and bleeding, until he drifts away as his life keeps leaking out of the cut, dripping down his leg onto a fatal stain on his cot, gone and dead and over一</p>
<p>He opens his eyes and bites down on his fist in an attempt to stop the cries, but they’re bursting from his lungs, clawing his throat raw.</p>
<p>George can’t lose Dream.</p>
<p>He tries to suck in a breath but it catches painfully and sends him into a coughing fit.</p>
<p>Dream could’ve died.</p>
<p>Through the panic eating him alive, he’s distantly aware of the blond calling his name. It’s foggy though, and it doesn’t matter. Not when he could be dead right now. </p>
<p>If George walked away from Dream, he would’ve died.</p>
<p>Bile rises in his throat and in his state he gags on it, barely able to swallow it down. He knows he’s sobbing, loud, ripping, cries shattering the quiet around them. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t <i>matter</i>一</p>
<p>Without Dream, it’s meaningless. It’s all worth nothing一</p>
<p>Without Dream, George is <i>nothing</i>一</p>
<p>Clammy, solid hands land on either side of his jaw and the feeling is grounding. He knows Dream’s hands, the perfect length of his fingers spanning the length of his jaw; the callus on the outer edge of each palm under his first finger, more prominent on his right hand than his left; the way his left pinky crooks up from when he broke it when he was a kid; the jut of his thumb; the angle of every bone一 George thinks he’d recognize the feeling of the whorls on the pads of Dream’s fingertips. The feeling on his skin is a reminder that the other is here.</p>
<p>“George!” he shouts, and George can hear the desperation in his voice, the fear and heartache, rough from his shouts and cries while George stitched him up.</p>
<p>...Stitched Dream’s wound as his blood dripped down George’s hands, as it stained the ground beneath them. There’s so much blood一</p>
<p>“Look at me, hey- hey,” he calls, and his voice isn’t steady but it’s <i>his.</i></p>
<p>George could’ve lost it tonight.</p>
<p>“Please, George, baby, love一” George wants to look up. He wants to see Dream, see how he’s still here, recovering. All he can do is grip the other’s knee on his uninjured leg and try desperately to chase breath that refuses to go all the way to his constricting lungs. “<i>Please</i>,” Dream says, and it’s broken. His voice is shattering into pieces that match the shards of George’s shattered form, held too tightly in Dream’s grasp.</p>
<p>He’s hurting Dream more. He hates himself for it. He should just suck it up and push it away. George should be strong for Dream so the other doesn’t have to be strong. God, Dream’s the one dealing with the trauma of the battlefield and here George is, <i>breaking apart on the dirt ground一</i></p>
<p>Suddenly, the hands leave his jaw and another stronger sob is ripped from his throat, lacing pain through the raw flesh, but then they’re back, around his waist this time, and he’s being pulled up, up, up. Then, the only thing surrounding him is Dream. His arms, shaking, wrap around George tightly, almost painfully, and his breathing is heavy and unsteady but strong against George’s chest. George buries his tear covered face in Dream’s neck, and clutches desperately at Dream’s shirt.</p>
<p>Dream is <i>here</i> and he’s <i>okay</i>一</p>
<p>Dream starts rocking them back and forth, the movements slightly choppy, but calming nonetheless. It’s desperate ocean waves, an insistent gale in a summer storm. It’s Dream, graced in starlight and perfection, shattering, exploding into a supernova in front of him一 creation both haunted and holy.</p>
<p>All George wants is for quiet nights in the woods, safe in each other’s presence. He wants somewhere secluded to retreat to when they want to let go, and he wants the freedom to leave with Dream whenever they please.</p>
<p>He <i>hates</i> being tied here. Hates with every fiber of his being what this war is doing to them, doing to everyone.</p>
<p>But he still has Dream.</p>
<p>Slowly, his cries subside and he can begin to catch his breath, matching it to the rise and fall of Dream’s chest pressed against him.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he finally manages, voice ragged and gravelly, torn apart from inside. His face is still pressed into Dream’s shoulder, and the taller is still rocking them, holding him too tightly in a way that George <i>needs</i>.</p>
<p>Dream drags in a breath that tastes like relief. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t need to apologize. I promise I won’t do it again. I promise.”</p>
<p>The words are broken, and they don’t feel hollow so much as they feel deconsecrated— stripped of all grace, of any holiness they should hold. George doesn’t know if he should believe them, but he does. Desperation demands he does, lest the panic claws back up his throat and chokes him again.</p>
<p>George wants to pull back so Dream can lay down, stretch his leg out and let the healing potions guide the night into a medicine far better than George could ever manage himself, but he’s too weak. He needs Dream’s now even breathing against him, needs the reassurance that the other is still here, still alive under his hands.</p>
<p>He manages a compromise.</p>
<p>“Can we一” he starts, words catching painfully as he talks. He starts again, “Can we lay down?” The question, the plea, is timid. They’ve barely hugged recently, and here George is, asking if they can hold each other as they fall asleep. He can’t take it back though, doesn’t think he could cope with laying alone in his cot, sleep plagued with nightmares of losing Dream.</p>
<p>Dream interrupts his conflicted thoughts with an equally soft, “Of course, George.” Relief floods him, warm and cold at the same time. He feels safe in the heat of Dream’s arms at the same time that cool relief rushes him like ice water running over a burn.</p>
<p>Slowly, careful of Dream’s wrapped wound, they maneuver into a horizontal position. They’re still pressed together, George practically laying on Dream’s chest, Dream’s arms wrapped tightly, nearly desperately around George’s waist. Together, they fall into a fitful sleep. Their dreams are full of unremembered panic and unknowable heartache.</p>
<p>Yet when they wake from a nightmare, teary eyed and breathless, it’s okay, because the other is there, safe in their arms.</p>
<p>Safe, safe, safe, for just a moment, from the war rampaging around them, trailing its havoc through their starlit lives.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day is harrowing. Dream, despite his proud words, is glad he’s not expected in the battle. He doesn’t want to see Tommy, not after yesterday. Not when he’s tired and off of his game. Not after he almost killed a teenager. Not after a teenager almost killed <i>him</i>.</p>
<p>It’s still jarring, that in his haze of self-loathing, Dream didn’t register the severity of needing to rewrap a steadily bleeding wound over the course of two hours at least three times. Jarring even more is the way George is glued to his side. Dream is glad to have him there, but it’s such a stark difference to their past few weeks. He doesn’t want to get into a fight with Tommy and have to leave the other. He doesn’t want George to have to help in the medical tent without him by his side.</p>
<p>The four of them, Dream, George, Quackity, and Sapnap, make their various appearances on the field, just long enough to be noticed by the enemy but short enough that the sudden disappearance isn’t incredible. Dream and George fight back to back for the first time in a while, and it feels good. Not a move is rusty, not an action out of place, and it’s so reassuring. The bond they’ve built is unbreakable, even after all they’ve been through.</p>
<p>If, while they fight, they’re just a bit more protective of the other than usual, no one mentions it.</p>
<p>Eventually though, as the sun reaches its peak in the sky, the two break away from the fighting.</p>
<p>Yesterday, during the meeting, they went over the maps of the tunnels. Dream and George were to go in an entrance hidden in a cliff face covered in vines, seemingly nothing more than the entrance to a cave until it veers off into a cramped man-made passage that slowly grows as it goes on. They walk in silence, footsteps not making a sound against the stone floor, listening for any sign of life. Dream carries a drawing of the tunnels and directs them slowly to an entrance tunnel leading straight to the main path back to L’Manburg. They’re to meet with Sapnap and Quackity there, waiting for the retreat. Techno strategically placed other generals and their lieutenants close to certain entrances, which will hopefully persuade the enemy Generals to retreat to the specific tunnel they’re waiting in, led by Eret.</p>
<p>Despite his qualms and squabbles with Techno, Dream begrudgingly has to admit it is a good plan.</p>
<p>When they reach their meeting spot, Sapnap and Quackity are already there. They nod at Dream and George, silent as the empty sea, and go back to leaning against the wall.</p>
<p>When Dream leans on the wall next to Sapnap, the younger turns to him. “How do you walk so quietly? These tunnels amplify every little sound,” he whispers.</p>
<p>As the sounds bounce around the walls, Dream shoots him a look. “Practice,” he murmurs, voice so soft that the only way Sapnap hears it is by looking at his mouth forming the word. “Now hush.”</p>
<p>George smirks at the interaction, at the bashful way Sapnap winces and mouths what Dream thinks is, “sorry.”</p>
<p>Time passes in the way that she does, slowly, terribly, but she marches along nonetheless. The air in the tunnels is stale and the slight breeze from a distant entrance does nothing more than push it around. At some point, they sit down. Eventually, George lays his head on Dream’s shoulder. Quackity and Sapnap start pantomiming stupid ideas to each other that they struggle to understand, creating a comical argument of gestured miscommunications.</p>
<p>Dream starts reviewing the one thing he’s known since birth, as ritualistic as breathing, comforting even in his anger: he counts constellations.</p>
<p>He sees them in the texture of the walls, in the dust hanging dormant in the air, in the freckles dusting his hands. On his right, he’s always seen the Centaur. The dots form lines, broad shoulders attached to the body of a horse, holding a spear out triumphantly. A hero, a hunter among the stars. On his left, he sees the Wolf. It’s dead form curls on itself, a sacrifice. When Dream lines his hands up, he can see the full picture一 Lupus hanging from Centaurus’s spear. Once upon a time, he would talk to the Centaur, when the night was quiet and the air was warm. He’d call to it, asking if killing the Wolf appeased the rest of the universe. Did they accept his sacrifice with joy and triumph? Or does Lupus, hanging forever limp from his spear, haunt him? Was it worth it, he’d ask Centaurus. Is the life of many worth enough for the blood of something alive?</p>
<p>The Centaur never answered. Then, he returned from the Nether, begging of the stars for help, begging Heracles for a miracle, crying out to Ophiuchus to heal the boy.</p>
<p>His prayers were met with apathy, and the boy died an unfair death.</p>
<p>He stopped talking to Centaurus, after that.</p>
<p>Dream is interrupted from his joyless musings by the distant sound of conversation. It’s so faint, extremely far away, but it’s carried by a slight uptake in air that probably means the tunnel’s been opened.</p>
<p>George looks up barely a second later, hearing it, and Dream gently sets a hand on Sapnap’s shoulder, gesturing for him to listen. Quackity does too, and they both hear it. Carefully they stand. The others are making enough of a racket that Dream doesn’t have to worry about Sapnap and Quackity’s quiet footsteps alerting anyone. The four make their way cautiously to a bend in the tunnel, settling into a tense stillness, waiting like predators preparing to strike.</p>
<p>Dream pushes every thought out of his head and focuses on the sounds he’s hearing.</p>
<p>He can isolate the cadence of Tommy’s voice and the drawl of Eret’s amidst others. They don’t sound cheery, but they don’t sound too rushed. They’re just making their way back to L’Manburg after any other battle. He hears what he thinks is six distinct sets of footsteps. Eret and Tommy, then four others. That’s good. That means that, should Eret stick to his word, they’d have an easy five to four battle. L’Manburg’s generals would be tired after the fight, whereas Dream, George, Quackity and Sapnap are well rested, at least in theory, and buzzing with pent up energy.</p>
<p>Across the tunnel on the opposite wall, a formation of cracks forms Libra, the scales of justice.</p>
<p>He ignores them, just as they ignored him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George lets himself fall calm.</p>
<p>Their time of reckoning approaches to the irregular drum beat of their enemies footsteps.</p>
<p>He won’t kill, he refuses, but he’ll protect his friends with his life, and he’ll bring to war one step closer to being over, being won, if it means that he and Dream will get to leave, that they’ll all get to leave, hopefully with their souls still intact.</p>
<p>Every second brings the Generals closer to them. Unconsciously, he looks to Dream for the go ahead. Sapnap and Quackity are doing the same.</p>
<p>Dream pulls out an axe and rests it casually against his shoulder.</p>
<p>Sapnap draws a long, curved sword, holding it loosely yet solidly in his right hand.</p>
<p>Quackity readies his grand battleaxe, carefully balancing it across his front.</p>
<p>And George?</p>
<p>George pulls his longsword free and feels the familiar weight against his hands.</p>
<p>He leans the flat of the blade to his forehead and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.</p>
<p>When he opens them, he meets the eyes of Dream’s mask and nods.</p>
<p>They’re close enough to make out the veins of conversation happening, but it’s all nonsense, a jumble of rambling voices that have nothing to say.</p>
<p>Dream holds a hand up, a sign to wait, and mouths, “Trust me.”</p>
<p>Then.</p>
<p>Then, he steps out.</p>
<p>And everything goes silent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck?” Tommy yells, breaking the silence.</p>
<p>From where he’s standing, Dream still has a direct line of sight to his friends hidden against the wall at the bend in the tunnel, but he’s facing the group of six fully armed and armored Generals. They don’t know he’s not alone.</p>
<p>Even if he was alone, he’s fairly sure he could handle them.</p>
<p>“Hello, Tommy,” he greets casually, like they’re old acquaintances and not sworn enemies, or, at least, the closest they have to such a thing. “I’m guessing you’re Wilbur,” he says to the tall, brown haired man. He stands taller than both he and Eret, and it would be imposing if he wasn’t also so thin. He could keep talking, point out each person by name to freak them out, but with the way this interaction is going to go, he doesn’t think he needs to waste the time. He only has so much before the shock wears off and someone, probably Tommy, pulls their weapon.</p>
<p>“Dream,” Wilbur greets, voice confused but amicable. “What is this?” His accent is similar to George’s. It’s annoying somehow but Dream pushes the thought away. </p>
<p>Dream hums, lets himself smile in a way he knows is disconcerting when paired with the mask. “I thought I’d stop in and say hi, give a front row introduction,” he says, voice taking on a borderline cheery tone.</p>
<p>He catches sight of the shortest, a little brunet he can place as Tubbo, shifting angrily in his place.</p>
<p>Tubbo and Tommy are notoriously close. After what Dream did to Tommy yesterday, he wouldn’t be surprised if Tubbo wants to skewer him on the spot.</p>
<p>In the end, the first to draw their weapon is Eret.</p>
<p>“You’ve chosen the wrong battle to fight alone, Dream,” he says, deep voice reverberating through the tunnel.</p>
<p>Dream smirks, slowly swaying his axe back and forth where it rests on his shoulder. “Oh come on now, I’ve been through hell and back,” he says, and despite the light tone of his voice he means it. If need be, he could take down all six of them on his own. He doesn’t have to though. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his friends shifting anxiously, ready to join the second he wants them. He’s relying on George to get them in at the best time, right when Dream wants them. He knows the other won’t disappoint. “I can handle six people.”</p>
<p>A girl, the only among them, Niki he notes, speaks. “You can’t even beat Tommy. What makes you think you could take all of us?” she asks, pulling her weapon, a standard longsword.</p>
<p>Dream inwardly winces. He’s not pleased that he has to lean into this, but Tommy is afraid of him, he can see it in the way the other flinches at her words, and Dream can use that.</p>
<p>He hums. “I think we all know I can,” he says, voice dropping low, “him and I best, although I figured if you cared about him at all, you’d have known too.” Dream watches her recoil, eyes darting around in worry.</p>
<p>“I’d like to see you try,” Tubbo growls, sword out and level, twirling around his hand in the same intimidation tactic Tommy’s tried on him, near when they started fighting.</p>
<p>Dream scoffs at it. “No you don’t.” <i>I don’t either</i>, he thinks, feeling tension in his shoulders. He doesn’t like being a monster, but it’s an advantage he can press and he’ll press it.</p>
<p>Their goal here, after all, is to sow as much doubt as they can into L’Manburg’s ranking officials, injuring them both physically and mentally. That’s something Dream’s good at.</p>
<p>“Anyways, Tubbo,” he says, stressing the name the other never gave him, “If you’re implying that <i>you’d</i> be able to stop me一” he snickers, leaning forward towards the group, “Well, let’s just say that you’d probably just get in Tommy’s way.”</p>
<p>“That is enough,” Wilbur says, growling.</p>
<p>Dream just laughs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to lose control of your pawns, Wilbur,” he says easily, voice mockingly understanding. “I’m sure they don’t care that you’re just using them, yeah?”</p>
<p>It’s Fundy that pulls two short swords and tries to attack him.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t even flinch. Wilbur’s hand shoots out and stops the redhead before he can get past. “Calm down, Fundy,” he says, voice steady. “We don’t really want trouble, Dream. If you just walk away, we’ll let you go.”</p>
<p>“Let me go?” He asks, and he can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes his lungs. “Sorry, I don’t think you’re understanding this properly. And as for not wanting trouble?” the amusement drains from his voice as he continues, “You started a war, Soot. If you didn’t want trouble, you should’ve just sucked it up or left. Instead, here you are, leading a war to feel important.”</p>
<p>Something in WIlbur’s calm expression tightens, and he knows he’s hitting a bullseye.</p>
<p>“Your ego’s as big as they say it is, then,” Eret says, faking a sneer.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s bigger,” he shoots back, “but I think everyone would argue that it’s well earned.”</p>
<p>Fundy shifts angrily behind Wilbur. “Come on Wil! Lets just deal with ‘im and go.” His voice is angry and impatient. It’s annoying.</p>
<p>“Fundy,” Wilbur warns.</p>
<p>“Who even are you? Clearly no one important, just another pawn to order around, it seems,” Dream lies. He knows from Eret that a lot of what he’s saying isn’t true, but based in reality enough that it’ll hit home.</p>
<p>“This is your last warning, Dream. You might be some sort of savior, but that doesn’t mean you’re not our enemy. We’ll kill you where you stand,” Wilbur says. If Dream hadn’t stared death in the eyes more times than he could count, he’d actually believe the other. It’s impressive.</p>
<p>Dream grins.</p>
<p>Not impressive enough.</p>
<p>Making eye contact with Tubbo, he mirrors the other’s earlier words. “I’d like to see you try.”</p>
<p>Wilbur drops his hand from Fundy’s shoulder and draws his sword.</p>
<p>A lot of things happen in rapid succession, then.</p>
<p>The group rushes him, Eret falling to the back.</p>
<p>Dream pulls his shield, as fast as lightning, leveling his axe and meeting Wilbur’s sword head on.</p>
<p>A shout breaks the air, and Dream sees Sapnap’s sword digging a line through Fundy’s arm. Quackity manages to surprise Niki, catching her off guard and sending her stumbling back. George lashes out at Tubbo, his sword slicing lightly off of the short boy’s cheek.</p>
<p>That leaves Dream with Wilbur, Tommy, and Eret.</p>
<p>The three are on him. Tommy swings violently at him from his left. It’s easily blocked by his shield. Wilbur tries to hit Dream in his shoulder with a fast swing of his sword, but Dream dodges easily. As he steps back, he crouches down, swinging for Tommy’s legs. His axe connects and leaves a matching mark to Dream’s newest scar.</p>
<p>Wilbur prepares to swing again, downwards at his head. Tommy lunges at him. Dream locks eyes with Eret, who grins.</p>
<p>Dream knocks Tommy’s sword away with his axe, not bothering to worry about Wilbur.</p>
<p>He watches out of the corner of his eye as the tall man’s sword arcs downwards. It’s met, much to Wilbur’s surprise, by another sword.</p>
<p>“What? Eret一” Wilbur cries. Tommy stops, catching sight of Wilbur’s blade locked against Eret’s.</p>
<p>“Eret?” Tommy shouts, disbelief coloring his voice.</p>
<p>The battle freezes as everyone locks eyes on the two L’Manburg soldiers, standing in a stalemate, their swords crossed, pressing insistently together in a paused battle of strength.</p>
<p>In the echoing hall, the silence is deafening.</p>
<p>“What,” Wilbur says, worry and confusion coloring his normally calm tone panicked, “are you doing, Eret?”</p>
<p>Eret smiles, glasses still obscuring his eyes. “What has had to happen since the beginning. Down with the revolution!” he booms, then quieter, heavier, he finishes, “It was never meant to be.”</p>
<p>Chaos reigns.</p>
<p>The battle doesn’t last long, not when it’s five to five, easily winnable with Dream and George both fighting together while the L’Manburg Generals are tired.</p>
<p>The first person to go down is Fundy. Sapnap sends a vicious kick to the other’s stomach, causing him to fall backwards and hit his head. He goes still, and Niki shouts, “Fundy!” In her distracted state, Quackity uses the heavy, rounded back of his battle axe to knock a blow straight into the base of her neck. She crumples like a leaf.</p>
<p>Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo form a circle, fighting back to back. It’s useless against the five of them.</p>
<p>In synch, Dream and George swing at Tommy. George’s sword lands heavy against Tommy’s, matching him in power. Dream’s axe strikes Tommy’s shield, gouging out a chunk of wood. Sapnap is next to them, fighting Tubbo and clearly winning. Eret and Quackity are matching Wilbur blow for blow, landing extra swipes and hits. Dream watches as Eret’s boot connects solidly with Wilbur’s shield, sending him stumbling back into Tubbo and setting the younger off balance. Sapnap takes full advantage and slices his sword deep into Tubbo’s dominant arm.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” the boy shouts, pain and Tommy’s eyes widen.</p>
<p>“Tubbo?” He calls, desperately, unable to look at his friend while he fights Dream and George.</p>
<p>Sapnap’s next hit knocks Tubbo’s sword from his hand, and the sound of it clattering to the ground is deafening.</p>
<p>“Not looking good, Tommy,” he shouts back raising his shield, cradling his profusely bleeding arm close to his chest.</p>
<p>Tommy immediately lashes out at Sapnap with his sword, diving away from Dream and George. He lands one regrettable hit, a thick slash across Sapnap’s abdomen, before George kicks out and knocks his feet from under him. Dream plants one boot directly to his back as he scrambles to get up. George kicks the sword away.</p>
<p>Sapnap, one hand pressed to the bleeding wound, places the tip of his sword to the base of Wilbur’s skull from behind him. Immediately upon feeling the cool, sharp metal against his skin, he freezes.</p>
<p>“I think it’d be wise,” Sapnap starts, voice a growl, “to end this war soon. We won’t be so merciful next time.”</p>
<p>A shiver wracks Wilbur’s shoulders, and no matter how much he tries to hide it, Dream sees it clear as day.</p>
<p>“Toss your weapon away,” Sapnap instructs, and the other does as he’s told, slowly, projecting every movement.</p>
<p>Easily they force Wilbur to his knees, hands raised.</p>
<p>“If you try anything while we leave, you’ll regret it.”</p>
<p>Wilbur just nods.</p>
<p>“Oh, hey Tommy,” Dream starts, breaking the silence, “I forgot to tell you something.”</p>
<p>The blond is quiet where he’s lying, prone.</p>
<p>“I have something that I know is important to you.” Tommy freezes under his foot, and Dream grins. “I want you to know that I’m a reasonable guy. I’m willing to work something out that’s advantageous to both of us, if you want.”</p>
<p>“You’re a bastard, Dream. Choke on your own tongue,” he spits.</p>
<p>Dream just laughs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s about a week later, and they’re eating a celebratory dinner after the hard won battles of the last few days. Casualties have been down after they started blocking the tunnel entrances, make L’Manburg approach and retreat on foot in the open.</p>
<p>Dream is sitting next to Sapnap, Karl, Quackity, and Eret. The seat to his right, George’s, is empty. George was running late from the med tents before the meal, but he should be here soon.</p>
<p>“And then Sapnap slammed Fundy into the wall hard enough to knock him out!” Quackity regales to Karl, to the entertainment of everyone else there.</p>
<p>Sapnap is bashful but glowing under the attention of his two closest friends and Dream is taking it all in. He wishes George would just get here already.</p>
<p>The sky is a crystal blue, the air pleasantly warm but not too hot. Everyone around them is laughing, boisterous. Even King Techno seems to be having a good time where he’s situated next to Skeppy and Bad.</p>
<p>All that’s to say that no one, not a single soul, expects the sharp crack of explosives that light from the barrels of animal feed nearby.</p>
<p>It all happens too fast.</p>
<p>The first explosion happens to his right, the second barely a moment later to his left. Another goes off behind him, and everyone is screaming and shouting.</p>
<p>Something terrified settles in his stomach一 where’s George?</p>
<p>“What the fuck’s going on?” Sapnap shouts, but it sounds distant. There are fires where the explosions happened, spreading across the grass.</p>
<p>Where’s George?</p>
<p>A table was caught in the second blast, and someone is screaming in agony as their skin burns, filling the air with the disgusting scent of cooking flesh, hair, and cloth.</p>
<p>
  <i>Where’s George?</i>
</p>
<p>Finally, his head focuses on everything happening. Dream scans the throngs of people for anyone suspicious, tries to see if this is more than just sabotage of their supplies, but he can’t see anyone. He doesn’t see George either.</p>
<p>It’s never just sabotage.</p>
<p>Dream starts running.</p>
<p>Distantly, against the din of the chaos, he hears people calling to him. He pays it no mind. There’s blood pounding in his ears, matching the way his feet pound against the ground as he runs.</p>
<p>Something in his gut, in his instincts, is screaming at him.</p>
<p>Dream has to get to their tent.</p>
<p>Something is <i>wrong.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>George is washing blood off of his hands in his and Dream’s tent, uneasy and tired after the long day of helping heal people. He’s watching the dried blood dissolve in the basin, leaving the water tinted dirty. He’s breathing, just breathing, when he hears it.</p>
<p>Two sets of footsteps approaching the tent. They’re trying to be quiet, and to hear them, they’d have to be close. Instinctually, he grabs his sword and shield, then sits lightly on the crate next to his cot, waiting. Something about the day has him on edge, like any moment the sky’s going to come crashing down to the earth in a war far more consequential than what they’re dealing with right now.</p>
<p>He keeps listening, and the footsteps get closer before the stop outside the tent. He hears two hushed voices.</p>
<p>“This is Dream’s tent?” One says, and George recognizes it as Tubbo.</p>
<p>“This is it,” the other says, and unsurprisingly it’s Tommy.</p>
<p>Instantly, George knows that they’re here for the discs. He knew the second that Dream admitted to having them that something bad would happen.</p>
<p>Silently, George stands. His footsteps are truly soundless, his breathing quieter than the wind outside. He positions himself directly in front of the entrance flap, extending his sword.</p>
<p>“And are you sure you saw Dream at the meal?” Tubbo whispers, voice insistent.</p>
<p>“Yes, Tubbo. I wouldn’t make that mistake.”</p>
<p>A moment passes in fraught tension, before he hears Tommy whisper, “Just in and then out.”</p>
<p>“Let’s go,” Tubbo murmurs.</p>
<p>The harsh light from the evening sun assaults his eyes as soon as the flap is pulled back. Before he registers what’s happening, Tommy steps forward, directly into the tip of George’s sword.</p>
<p>“Looking for something?” George asks, watching as Tommy and Tubbo’s eyes widen.</p>
<p>George could skewer Tommy, but he’d never. Not this kid, who’s just trying to fight for his friends and family. Not a boy who’s trying to save a world.</p>
<p>Tommy takes a deep breath as his eyes shutter back to normal. If it isn’t for the way his inhale shakes, George would believe he’s fine as he says, “Funny seeing you here, George! Any chance we could do this the easy way and you could just hand us the discs and we could just leave?”</p>
<p>Being completely honest, George considers it for the briefest moment. He’s done with the war and he’s annoyed that he’s here, having to fight.</p>
<p>But he would never.</p>
<p>Not to Dream.</p>
<p>“Afraid not,” he replies with a sneer.</p>
<p>“Then I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”</p>
<p>Fast, but not faster than he can react, Tubbo’s pulling his sword out. In a blink, George has shoved Tommy outside the tent and stepped out. He’ll need room if he’s going to last. The clang of his sword against Tubbo’s is loud as he parries the first hit. Tommy pulls his sword out and slices it through the air, movement precise and aimed at George’s side.</p>
<p>He steps out of the way, left foot connecting with the earth and holding him steady. Tubbo, to his right, steps forwards again with another harsh swing of his sword. George ducks under it, using the momentum to carry him forward, low, and he barrels into Tubbo’s chest. It’s enough to catch him off guard and send him stumbling back. George then twists to Tommy and swings at him. Their swords rattle and scrape off of each other and George wonders how long it’ll be before someone hears an entire sword fight and comes over.</p>
<p>George sends a prayer to the stars, hidden but present nonetheless, and asks them to bring Dream to him.</p>
<p>As he parries another swing of Tommy’s sword, he hears Tubbo approach and swing behind him. Barely looking, he spins, swinging his shield out first. It connects solidly with Tubbo’s sword and the other clearly wasn’t expecting it.</p>
<p>George reorients himself between the two and the tent, the entrance to his back. Tommy and Tubbo swing at him as one, and George ducks down, leaning and letting himself fall backwards. It feels like slow motion as the swords pass over his nose and clang into each other, sending reverberations up their arms. As he pops back up, he takes their surprise and slashes out at Tommy mid-section. He barely grazes the other, but it’s enough to bolster him. George swings at Tommy again, who blocks with his sword, meeting the swing in a sonorous clang.</p>
<p>That, of course, is when George hears the explosions.</p>
<p>It comes from the direction of the eating area, three in rapid succession. Panic skitters across skin but he doesn’t let it distract him.</p>
<p>Tommy lets out a bark of laughter as Tubbo lets out a cheer. “Yes!”</p>
<p>They must think he’s going to pause fighting to blather on about whatever just happened, but he’s not the type. Tommy doesn’t realize his sword is coming in fast enough, and it cuts across the other’s shoulder, leaving his shirt torn open and weeping red.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” Tommy yells, pained, but raises his sword nonetheless and strikes at him again,</p>
<p>The fight resumes as it was, now lit by the cacophony coming from the distant eating area.</p>
<p>George dodges a swing from Tubbo and drops low again, kicking out at Tubbo’s knee. His foot makes contact and sends him tumbling. Instantly, Tommy is on him. He stands up quickly and braces against Tommy’s swing with his shield. He swings at George again, but George hits his sword out of the air in a mirrored swipe.</p>
<p>Tubbo is back up again, his sword coming straight for George’s head. He bobs out of the way, quick and efficient, but Tommy’s swinging out for where he was dodging to. The sword glances his hip and it burns but it’s not deep. He blocks another hit from Tubbo with his shield and swings back in response catching the other on the thigh.</p>
<p>Tommy takes the opportunity to swing at him, and he dodges back but it’s not fast enough, the sword landing heavily on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Take that, you piece of shit!” Tommy yells, and in his bolstering, he leaves his left side unguarded. George hits him solidly, and it’s enough to make him falter for a minute. Then, Tommy looks up at him, pissed.</p>
<p>Their efforts redouble and George is losing ground. He’s careful to keep both of them engaged lest one of them gets the bright idea to slip off into the tent and get the discs while George is occupied. It’s tiring though, and the blood dripping down his shoulder is sticky and warm.</p>
<p>Unlike Dream, he’s so very human. He doesn’t have god-like reflexes and intuition, just years of practice with the best of the best. The wound is, despite the adrenaline, starting to ache.</p>
<p>He needs Dream.</p>
<p>That’s when he hears the footsteps.</p>
<p>They pound into the earth like a rabbit-fast heartbeat, drumming a war call.</p>
<p>Of course, he’d recognize them anywhere.</p>
<p>It’s then that the two enemy Generals do something he doesn’t expect. He sees the realization flash on their faces, figuring out who’s coming. Just as Dream crests the hill, eyes widening upon seeing them all, Tubbo and Tommy both swing at once, from either side, one near his head, the other at his side. He twists out of the way, but it’s not enough. In his stumbling dodge, Tommy grabs a hold of his shirt and puts his sword to George’s neck, stepping behind him to face Dream. Tubbo has his sword leveled between the two Traedor heroes.</p>
<p>As this happens, Dream comes to a stop, eyes wide.</p>
<p>The blade is shaking just slightly where its razor sharp edge is pressed to George’s throat, showing how off balance Tommy really is. Typically, it’d be a good thing, would make getting out easier.</p>
<p>Now, as George can feel the edge graze his skin and warm blood drip from the line, it just terrifies him.</p>
<p>
  <i>Please, Dream. Please get me out of this alive.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seeing George, fear clear in his wide eyes, bleeding from his shoulder and hip and a few other places, looking tired and resigned and angry, makes something snap in Dream’s chest.</p>
<p>There is no bargaining, no holding it back.</p>
<p>Everything is clear, every potential path to strike and kill as clear as day in his mind.</p>
<p>No one hurts George.</p>
<p>“Dream!” Tommy calls, jovial tone trying to hide the panic he can see the other feeling.</p>
<p>He watches as a bead of dark blood rolls down George’s throat. His vision starts tunneling to just the two in front of him, sharpening, focusing so much that he can see every shift and breath.</p>
<p>“I’m giving you a deal, just like you suggested! You give me my discs, and I’ll give you George! Sound fair?”</p>
<p>Dream growls, his voice low as he says, “I’m giving you ten seconds.”</p>
<p>Tubbo’s eyes widen, his sword dipping for a moment. Dream cuts an imposing figure, he knows, sun at his back, mouth pressed into a thin line, poised and ready for attack. This is the first time the teen’s really seen him like this.</p>
<p>He catches sight of a tremor running down Tommy’s arm, causing the blade to shift against George’s neck, sees fear blossom in George’s eyes. “Get the sword away from his neck, Tommy.”</p>
<p>Tommy swallows. “Not until you give my discs back, Dream,” he calls and it would be impressive, how steady he manages to speak, but Dream could care less.</p>
<p>He sighs.</p>
<p>This isn’t what he wanted.</p>
<p>No one hurts George like this and gets away with it.</p>
<p>His movements are too fast for Tommy to see. Within a breath of the wind, Dream’s hand is wrapped around the other’s blade, yanking it forcefully away from George’s neck. His half gloves protect his palm, but his exposed fingers are sliced open with the action. Dream pays it no mind, ripping it out of Tommy’s nerve-weak grip.</p>
<p>He kicks the other in the stomach, too fast, too fast, too fast, sending him stumbling back. Dream snatches George out of Tommy’s grip and steadies him. Tubbo runs at him, finally getting his bearings together, but Dream dodges out of the way, flipping Tommy’s sword so the grip is in his wounded hand. Tubbo raises his sword to swing down again, and it leaves his side open. Dream slashes the sword out quicker than Tubbo can hit him, and slices deep into his side. The shorter teen cries out in pain. He sees Tommy lunging at him with a dagger to replace the sword now in Dream’s grip. He barely has to react, just extend the arm with the sword in his direction, and it runs straight through Tommy’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Go. If I see you here again I <i>will</i> kill you,” Dream growls, and as the monster in him says the words, he realizes that he means them.</p>
<p>Tommy and Tubbo, holding their wounds, flee.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream leads him carefully into the tent. George feels frozen. He’s gone against far scarier things, looked death in the eyes before, but to feel a blade at his throat, knowing full well that his life was completely in the hands of those around him一</p>
<p>“Come on, George, we need to get you cleaned up,” Dream murmurs, voice distant.</p>
<p>George forces himself to focus on the present, on the tent and on Dream and <i>not</i> on the blood still slowly dripping down his neck or the fire growing in his shoulder or the way his hands are shaking一</p>
<p>“George, baby, can you sit down?” Dream asks, but his tone feels hard.</p>
<p>There’s blood dripping down his fingers, painting his hand red.</p>
<p>He takes a deep breath and sits on his cot.</p>
<p>“Give me a healing potion and take one for yourself, then get out some spare cloth. We’re going to the med tents. My shoulder needs stitches and with your hand like that you won’t be able to,” George manages through the haze. Despite his skill in most things, Dream’s never been extremely great at stitches. He always rushes them.</p>
<p>Dream does as he says, but when he opens George’s bag, he freezes.</p>
<p>“George,” he says, voice worried. “There are only two left.”</p>
<p>George blinks. “Two what?” Something important isn’t connecting. It can’t be一</p>
<p>“Potions.”</p>
<p>Ice drips down his spine.</p>
<p>
  <i>That can’t be right.</i>
</p>
<p>“<i>Two?</i>” He asks, incredulous. When he stands to go over, a wave of dizziness sends him back down.</p>
<p>“Two,” Dream confirms, voice grim.</p>
<p>George is out of Nether Wart, at least with him, but they don’t have time to travel back to the mansion to get more, it’s too far away.</p>
<p>“Save one, you drink the other,” George settles on, feeling numb.</p>
<p>Only two? How did he not notice?</p>
<p>
  <i>The last time he used them, he was having a panic attack.</i>
</p>
<p>How could he be so stupid?</p>
<p>“What? No,” Dream replies, incredulous. “You’re the one with the bad wound, you drink it一”</p>
<p>George interrupts him. “Dream, I’m not the one who has to fight every day. I can still work in the med tents with a healing wound. If your hand heals at a normal rate, then you won’t be able to hold anything in it for a month.”</p>
<p>“I can hold stuff, George, it’s not a big deal, drink the potion,” he insists, holding the potion out to George.</p>
<p>Something snaps in George. “You don’t get it, do you?” he spits out, and the way that Dream recoils calms something in him. “If you’re out on the field in any condition other than your best, you’re more likely to get hurt, and without healing potions, one bad wound can mean it’s over for you, Dream! You act like you’re infallible, but you aren’t! When are you going to learn that? One day you’re going to bite off more than you can chew, and I’m going to be the one that pays.”</p>
<p>Silence reigns for a moment.</p>
<p>“We’re splitting it.”</p>
<p>George wants to argue.</p>
<p>He drinks half of the potion, and walks by Dream’s side to the med tents in silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stitch his hand and Dream sits through it, pained. The movements are impersonal and the medic glares at him when he winces. It’s so unlike how George would tend to his wounds with painstaking care, and it makes him ache.</p>
<p>George is nearby, sitting perfectly still as someone starts stitching his shoulder closed. He’s got a clean white bandage wrapped around his neck, and Dream detests it with all the vitriol in the world.</p>
<p>He’s pissed, beyond belief, that he let this happen. If he’d been faster, better, he would’ve prevented this. If he’d killed Tommy when given the chance, this wouldn’t have happened.</p>
<p>Sapnap walks in moments later, his eyes full of worry. Distantly, he thinks he remembers walking past his friend and ignoring him, brushing him off.</p>
<p>He feels bad about it, seeing Sapnap now. The young General makes his way over to Dream. His last finger is in the process of being stitched shut.</p>
<p>“What the fuck happened to you two?” He asks, worry and irritation at being ignored warring for dominance in his voice.</p>
<p>“The two L’Manburg Generals, Tommy and Tubbo, tried to sneak into the tent to steal the discs back. George was there and stopped them until I got there.” His response is flat, he knows, but he can’t help it. His breathing hitches as the needle slides quickly through his hand before the medic pulls the thread tight. It burns.</p>
<p>Sapnap winces in sympathy. “Well, when you’re done here, King Techno wants to speak to you. He originally wanted George too, but…”</p>
<p>Sapnap trails off looking at their friend. He’s watching them, the medic barely halfway across the wound.</p>
<p>“He’ll be fine without him there,” he finishes solemnly. The medic smooths a cream over his hand and bandages it quickly before ushering him up. The sheer disrespect of it sends a shot of annoyance through his chest, but he’s tactful enough to ignore it.</p>
<p>They wordlessly make their way to George, who gives them a pinched smile.</p>
<p>“What’s up?” he asks, voice somehow steady as the needle slides through his skin.</p>
<p>“I’m going to go speak to Techno,” Dream says, and he doesn’t mean for his tone to stay so flat, so vacant, but he can’t help it.</p>
<p>He feels hollowed out by the anger.</p>
<p>George just nods.</p>
<p>Sapnap glances between them, back and forth like he’s watching a massacre and can’t look away. Dream doesn’t blame him. They’ve been hot and cold for the past month at least, unpredictable and tense and fragile.</p>
<p>“If you’re feeling up to it once you’re finished, you can stop by. If not, uh, I hope you feel better,” Sapnap says through the tension.</p>
<p>George smiles at him. “I’ll see.”</p>
<p>George doesn’t say anything to Dream.</p>
<p>They leave, and Dream thinks in silence the entire walk to Techno’s tent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Apparently, Techno wanted Dream to <i>blame</i> him for this.</p>
<p>“Dream, I let you take the discs because Eret seemed to think it was a good idea,” Techno starts, voice firm and monotonous like it always is when he’s angry. “But the explosions today were clearly in retaliation, especially seein’ that they came to try an’ take the discs back.”</p>
<p>Dream balks at the king’s words. “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“You heard what I said.”</p>
<p>The tent is silent as Skeppy, Bad, and Sapnap watch on wordlessly.</p>
<p>“You’re blaming <i>me</i> for an act of war by the enemies, because I have the discs?” His voice is incredulous, the poorly tamed anger bubbling up to the surface again.</p>
<p>“These discs aren’t a part of this war, or at least they weren’t until you brought ‘em into it.”</p>
<p>He’s grateful that the mask hides the way his face scrunches in anger. “They’re part of Tommy, meaning that they damn well were a part of the war before.” The fire licks at the already burned walls of his chest and he continues, “You’re just upset that I thought to steal them before you did, <i>Your Majesty</i>.”</p>
<p>The King freezes. It’s miniscule, but Dream can see it anyways.</p>
<p>“For all we know,” he continues, “it could’ve been in response to your brilliant plan to ambush them as an intimidation tactic instead of using the tunnels to end the war.”</p>
<p>“Dream, you’re forgettin’ just who you’re talkin’ to,” Techno says dangerously, hand settling on the hilt of his sword as he takes a step forward. Everyone in the room is tense, frozen still as they watch with bated breath.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep breath and it feeds the flames scorching him from his inside out. “No, my King,” he says, and his voice is deep and steady. He watches Bad’s shoulders deflate in relief. Distantly he feels sorry for what he’s about to do, but he can’t bring himself to care, let alone stop. “I think that’s you.”</p>
<p>Technoblade flinches. Dream is standing tall in front of him, taller than the other, and the king sneers. “I want the discs, Dream, and then I want you to get out.”</p>
<p>It’s Dream’s turn to flinch. “What?”</p>
<p>A beat passes. “The discs, Dream. Or are you too dumb to understand?”</p>
<p>The flames are eating him alive.</p>
<p>“Techno, you don’t know what you’re doing,” he growls.</p>
<p>The king sneers at him. “This is an order. You’re to give them over to Sapnap to bring to me.”</p>
<p>Silence rings in Dream’s ears.</p>
<p>“And for the record,” Techno says, grinning viciously as Dream fumes in front of him, “I know <i>exactly</i> what I’m doing.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HHHHHHH so that was a ride darlings, wasn't it?<br/>Anyways, next chapter will be posted <span class="u">next saturday!</span><br/>I love all of your comments and Kudos dearly, so feel free to leave your thoughts on the chapter in the comments, or if you want to you can talk to me on Tumblr (honkschnoo) or Twitter (crappyravioli)<br/>Thank you all SM for reading!!! I'll see you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The City of Light (Pt. 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Loathe the way they light candles in Rome...</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys what the fuck have I done.<br/>First off, sorry this is late! If you follow me on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/honkschnoo"> tumblr </a>/<a href="https://twitter.com/crappyravioli"> twt </a> you'll have seen that some stuff came up that pushed this back! Yesterday I helped bleach and dye Sheep's hair green, and we watched Sam's face reveal! Which kinda took a big chunk of the time I was gonna write. On top of that, this chapter decided to be so fucking long. I stayed up writing last night until 8 am. I have every chapter planned out in a series of bullet points that detail major ideas, and I was halfway through the second out of four total points when it hit 8 am.<br/>So this one chapter is officially two parts!<br/>Obviously, I've said it before but I have a general playlist for this fic <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3sqSmLhctjkOc1ve7pekCf?si=8a2IPPtFR1it8Le44KYP4g"> here </a> and one for fight scenes <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6QqsGUNJAIAtuis4zDIf9e?si=XPC4AtS8QpGpLErVgQoexg"> here,</a> but now I also have <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ejrjftAzTMKmgWSU6pUEp?si=mTkg1BgaTlW-D7dnHFeTCA"> another playlist</a> specifically for this chapter! I highly reccomend you listen to it as you read.</p>
<p>All this said, my hands hurt from writing for 9 hours straight last night and I'm fucking tired, so I hope you enjoy part one of this chap!!!</p>
<p><b>Content warning</b> graphic depictions of sex from <i>"C'mon baby, we don't want the bath getting cold."</i> to <i>"Dream, love? You with me?"</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream leaves Techno’s tent fuming. No one follows him as he walks, in silence, back to his own.</p>
<p>He doesn’t notice anything as he walks; not the blood-red, weeping sunset, lighting fire to both the earth and sky alike; not the clouds brooding darkly on the horizon; not way the wind is picking up, whistling and whipping against him, screaming in agonizing rage. He doesn't notice the way the grass seems to wilt in his path, and he certainly doesn’t notice the way the sea rages just beyond the horizon. Dream doesn’t notice, but the world is livid, shattering apart at the seams.</p>
<p>George is in the tent, staring blankly at the wall.</p>
<p>Dream is glad he’s not about to interrupt anything.</p>
<p>“George,” he calls, and the vitriol and desperation in his voice is clear as day.</p>
<p>The other’s head snaps up at his words. “Oh,” he says, startled. His tone is calm as he continues, “Dream.”</p>
<p>The fire burning through his core obstructs his thoughts, and all he can think about is Techno and the discs.</p>
<p>“He fucking blames it on me!” Dream fumes, immediately pacing. He barely notices the ground pass as he circles the tent, gestures wild and clipped in anger. “Techno is blaming this on <i>me.</i>”</p>
<p>A moment passes in silence, a second in which he’s sure George is trying to process the absurdity of it all. “What?” The other asks, tone flat.</p>
<p>“Techno!” He yells, not noticing the other flinch. “He’s blaming the attack and explosions on <i>me</i> for stealing the discs! Like it wasn’t his own shit plan to attack them and leave them alive that caused this,” Dream rants, blood coursing hot through his ears.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>He barely hears the response. All he knows is that Techno, that <i>piece of shit</i>, is going to pay for this. “I knew he was incompetent before but this is just plain stupid! What sort of leader deflects their own mistakes onto their best fighter? A fucking moron, that’s who.”</p>
<p>Dream feels desperation claw at his throat as the words rip out of him. Those discs are <i>his</i>, a trophy, leverage against Tommy. He worked hard, risked his life for them, and Techno thinks he can just take them?</p>
<p>“I can’t believe that fucking一” he cuts himself off to take a deep breath. “He had the audacity to smear me in front of the other Generals, George! That gods damned piece of shit dangled his baseless fucking power over me and ran my name through the mud with a fucking <i>grin</i>, George, can you believe that?” he shouts, stopping his pacing to look at George.</p>
<p>“No, not at all, Dream.”</p>
<p>“Exactly!” He yells in agreement. “And then that fucking scumbag orders that I give him the discs!”</p>
<p>George looks up in disbelief. “The discs?” he asks, voice quiet.</p>
<p>“The very ones we just saved.”</p>
<p>A moment passes when all Dream can do is see red. The pain in his hand is throbbing, the new stitches pulling as he curls his hands into fists.</p>
<p>Voice low, Dream growls, “Fat load of good that did. What a waste. What a fucking waste!” he continues, voice growing louder. “He just knows he’s nowhere close to as powerful as I am, and this is how he lashes out! Stars, saving the discs was a fucking <i>waste</i>,” he grinds out, not noticing George’s silence. “You should’ve just let them take ‘em, George. It’s as good as we have now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George is tired.</p>
<p>His shoulder hurts, and his head aches from the fight.</p>
<p>Dream’s manic ranting rings in his ears, rattling in his skull like winter’s barren tree branches smashing together in an icy blizzard.</p>
<p>“...saving the discs was a fucking <i>waste</i>,” he hears, the words penetrating the thick layers of stormy numbness buzzing in his head. “You should’ve just let them take ‘em, George. It’s as good as we have now,” Dream grinds out, mask still obscuring everything except his sneering mouth. The venom in his voice seeps into George’s blood.</p>
<p>Numb.</p>
<p>George can’t muster a reply.</p>
<p>
  <i>“What a waste”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Should’ve just let them take ‘em.”</i>
</p>
<p>&lt;“What a fucking waste!”</p>
<p>George is numb.</p>
<p>His mouth tastes like copper.</p>
<p>Briefly, he considers choking on his sword.</p>
<p>But no.</p>
<p>That would take too much effort.</p>
<p>So he just sits there.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t notice.</p>
<p>Eventually, Sapnap comes in, but George pays him no mind. Somewhere, he’s aware of the worried look the other is sending him as a still livid Dream shoves the discs onto him, but he’s too numb to care.</p>
<p>There’s nothing.</p>
<p>It doesn’t even matter.</p>
<p>
  <i>“What a fucking waste!”</i>
</p>
<p>Dream leaves shortly after Sapnap, axes swinging viciously around his hands.</p>
<p>He’s going out hunting.</p>
<p>Distantly, George asks the stars to protect him.</p>
<p>Hopefully the stitches don’t break.</p>
<p>Mostly, George feels relief that the other left.</p>
<p>He gets ready to sleep on autopilot and lays on his cot well into the early hours of the morning, Dream finally coming back just before the sky breaks in morning. His movements are loud and jarring.</p>
<p>George doesn’t care.</p>
<p>He wasn’t asleep anyways.</p>
<p>A breath in, a breath out.</p>
<p>He doesn’t sleep.</p>
<p>Dream does.</p>
<p>Deam doesn’t accompany him to breakfast.</p>
<p>George doesn’t talk.</p>
<p>He trains the squadron alone and feels like he’s watching from a distance. Because of his shoulder, he can’t demonstrate all of the fighting.</p>
<p>It’s okay, the squadron carries itself well enough.</p>
<p>George keeps going through the motions.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Ever since they made it out of the Nether, alive and carrying a cornucopia of knowledge back with them, word of their goal spread.</p>
<p>
  <i>Two adventurers, one of prophetic birth, on a journey to kill the fabled Ender Dragon.</i>
</p>
<p>The tale of the Ender Dragon was, like the Nether, a story twisted by eons of spoken transition, a game of scrambled details and incorrect remembrance. Unlike the Nether though, the End was not told to children as a scary story. No, it was spoken of in hushed words, reverent in their fear, thick with the unspoken truth that the Dragon’s prison was failing.</p>
<p>Every new Enderman proved it.</p>
<p>The influx of mobs, the hordes of zombies, the spiders that grew larger and larger and larger as years passed一 it was all a sign that the End was collapsing.</p>
<p>Soon, the Ender Dragon would tear through the frail walls of reality and come to earth, to terrorize its people and end everything.</p>
<p>
  <i>Two adventurers, one of prophetic birth, improbably survive months in the Nether, with the resources needed to breach the End.</i>
</p>
<p>The world suddenly is at their backs, cheering them on in hopes that Dream and George save their lives.</p>
<p>Not much changes, really, at least not when they’re traveling through the woods hand in hand, joking when they can muster the energy, comforting each other when the weight of their failure sits too heavily on their shoulders. Some days, it’s suffocating. It’s only been a few months since they got out of the Nether, but most nights are sleepless and haunted by nightmares of red vines; bubbling, spitting lava; infected, festering wounds; death.</p>
<p>Dream <i>begged.</i></p>
<p>He can’t stomach looking at the night sky now.</p>
<p>He wants to reach up and crush every single spot of light.</p>
<p>He wants to vomit.</p>
<p>They keep travelling.</p>
<p>In the smaller towns that don’t deal much in the world’s rumors, they pass through unnoticed, continuing to sweep the libraries for any hints about how to get ender pearls and how to fuse them with blaze powder. In larger towns, closer and closer to their final destination, the grand city of Susea, capital of Traedor, <i>their last resort</i>, people start recognizing them.</p>
<p>They get free rooms and meals that they don’t need and are given spades of praise and offers of assistance that they don’t accept. They need to read every last word themselves to be sure. If someone else misses the one book that holds the secret to making the Eye of Ender, it would ruin everything.</p>
<p>Dream and George don’t trust anyone except each other.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t even trust the stars anymore.</p>
<p>His breathing catches.</p>
<p>
  <i>He died in Dream’s arms.</i>
</p>
<p>The apathy is heavy, thick in his chest like mud filling his lungs.</p>
<p>They scour library after library after ancient library, searching for the key.</p>
<p>The villages reveal nothing.</p>
<p>They have to go to Susea, the city Dream hates, and hopefully be graciously let in to the highly guarded libraries that the city’s elite boast about. Worst case scenario, they sneak in. They need to find it. They <i>need</i> to. They don’t know how to get enough ender pearls, and they don’t have enough blaze powder to waste, not until they know just how much they need. Taking a risk and experimenting and getting it wrong could ruin them.</p>
<p>If they’re forced to go back to that hell...</p>
<p>So, they begin the day-long journey from the closest village towards the walled city of Susea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first things George sees, far on the horizon, are the looming brick walls. They’re capped in mostly melted snow, and it feels like a fairy tale. Of course, George has heard of the great walled city, has talked about it like a distant dream he’d never get to see, yet now he’s approaching it and despite everything, he’s beyond excited.</p>
<p>George knows that Dream doesn’t like it because, when he first started travelling, alone and afraid and hungry, he came to the city to look for help and refuge. They turned him away, ignored him, pushed him aside. The thought makes George’s blood boil, but there’s no point in stewing about going somewhere when you have to go anyways, so why not think positively about it?</p>
<p>It’s approaching night when they reach the gates, the wind starting to pick up, bringing with it the promise of a cold night.</p>
<p>It’s so overwhelming up close. The stone walls seem to reach up for the heavens, and past the main gates, there’s a world alight with warmth in all of the chill. The path in is barren, most people turned in for the night to get out of the wind and ice. There are guards positioned on either side of the gate, layered in thick clothes under heavy armor.</p>
<p>“State your name and why you’re entering the city so late,” one guard demands as they approach, voice deep and gravelly. They’re just two dark figures in the shadowed night. George, too caught up in the world around him, just lets Dream answer.</p>
<p>“We’re travellers. This is George of Fondon. I’m Dream, from the Orlake region. We’re一” Dream begins, stepping into the light and revealing his iconic mask. His voice is steady in that way George loves, even knowing it’s a front he puts on to cover his anxiety when talking to people in power.</p>
<p>“You, uh一 you don’t have to explain anything else, Sir,” the guard interrupts, realizing who he’s speaking to. “I’m sorry for my disrespect. Please, feel free to explore the city to your heart’s content. On behalf of King Technoblade of the Kingdom of Traedor, we welcome you into Susea, the City of Lights.”</p>
<p>George watches as Dream balks at the grandiose welcome, the shift from gruff and harsh to polite to the point that the man is stumbling over his own words jarring.</p>
<p>Figuring he would help Dream out, George takes the lead. “Any chance you could point us to a safe place to spend the night?” he asks. If they’re being so hospitable, it would be a waste to not take advantage of it, right?</p>
<p>The guard points them in the direction of a nice inn. <i>“It’s a bit of a walk, but it’s worth it.”</i> So they start walking. It’s early spring and the evenings are dark and cold, but George doesn’t feel the usual bite of the wind as he begins walking through the streets of the glowing city. The brick road they walk is wide, lined with mostly closed shops and small homes, glowing in lantern light and the warmth of fires hidden behind protective glass. The paths jutting off are thinner, and a few that George sees seem so tiny and dirty that he’d rather walk through a dark, musty cave than try and squeeze through.</p>
<p>As they get farther into the city, the grander the buildings become. Less are wood, more are stone and brick, bright beacons of prosperity strung with cords of hanging lights and sea lanterns. It illuminates the cold night, distracting George completely from any discomfort. It’s addicting.</p>
<p>When he looks up, the stars are barely visible.</p>
<p>It sends a pang of longing through his chest, but it’s probably for the best.</p>
<p>He casts a glance at Dream to find the other highlighted in the soft glow of the surrounding lights. Like this, Dream is beautiful. If it wasn’t such uncharted territory, if it wasn’t so cold, George would stand up on his toes and drag Dream into a kiss so thorough it’d steal his breath. He wants to drag them into a shitty side street and worship his glowing skin, wants to be eaten alive by the other.</p>
<p>It’s frustrating.</p>
<p>The most they’ve done is make out and mess around. They kiss until their lips are numb and they’re squirming with want, but neither of them want to go farther on the forest floor, or in a tiny inn with a poor old woman a room over. Especially not when people <i>know</i> them. Every once in a while, a safe time would present itself, but before the Nether, it felt too early. Too early and never special enough and not nearly important enough. After the Nether…</p>
<p>Well.</p>
<p>For the month out of the Nether, all either of them could do was cling to each other.</p>
<p>George brushes the thoughts out of his mind. Slowly, they’re healing. They don’t talk about it, because they don’t need to, and it makes everything so much easier. Not talking about it means not thinking about it, not re-agitating the wounds, and it means that they can heal.</p>
<p>George can’t climb Dream in the middle of the damp, whimsically lit street, not without risking people seeing them, so he urges them along faster.</p>
<p>The building is <i>huge</i>.</p>
<p>It’s the largest they’ve seen thus far, by a huge margin. The walls are built out of smooth quartz and dark oak with ornate pillars.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, this has got to be the wrong place,” Dream says, turning to George with a flash of panic. “We’ve got plenty of emeralds but if this is it一 we can’t afford this.”</p>
<p>George nods, lost in the sharp, gilded edges sparkling in the glow of the gentle, dainty sea lanterns hanging off the overhangs at the front entrance.</p>
<p>The covered area has large braziers between the pillars, sending up smoke to the sky above. The cool light from the sea lanterns and the yellow blaze of the fire clash, illuminating the space in a kaleidoscope of glittering rays, promising warmth if they go in.</p>
<p>Suddenly, George can feel the night air brushing icy fingers against his neck, caressing the delicate skin there and making him shiver. “It’s probably not that,” he replies idly, looking around for the building that they must be missing. “We can just go in and ask, it looks like a business and it’s clearly still open.”</p>
<p>“George一” the taller starts hesitantly, but George cuts him off.</p>
<p>“Listen, idiot,” he starts, faking annoyance, “I’m cold, and I want to get you into a warm room so I can kiss you already, so pardon me if I want to hurry up.” After a moment, in which Dream’s ears and neck go a beautiful shade of red that just makes George want to kiss him more, he continues, “Anyways, we’re heroes, what are they gonna do? Be rude?”</p>
<p>Despite his warm tone, the word hero tastes bitter. He doesn’t much feel like a hero, not after the hell they went through in the Nether. He knows Dream feels the same, even more so he himself.</p>
<p>Still, the other cracks a smile, a bit sad at the corners, yet somehow still genuine. Still gorgeous.</p>
<p>Dream is always gorgeous, through anger and tears and disgust and laughter.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he replies, a bit breathless as he looks at George. “We can do that.”</p>
<p>George sends him a smile, full of as much love and hope and joy as he can muster, and grabs his wrist to pull him along.</p>
<p>He <i>really</i> wants to kiss Dream.</p>
<p>They enter the building to see a younger woman behind a table, bent over a worn, leather tome, engrossed in what she’s reading.</p>
<p>“Hello?” Dream calls, trying to get her attention.</p>
<p>Her head snaps up and she looks like she loses her balance for a second, completely disoriented. Finally, her eyes land on them before cycling through something tired, confusion, recognition, and eventually excitement. “Fucking Ender, shit, no way. You’re those adventurers, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>George didn’t think that they’d be recognized this fast, but Dream’s mask <i>is</i> really unique. Suddenly bashful, he reaches up and rubs at the heat creeping across his neck. He blames it on the fire crackling invitingly in the corner. Definitely not the instant recognition, even if it is mostly because of Dream.</p>
<p>Dream seems caught off guard too, and he shifts his weight around a bit. “Oh, uh一 yeah. Yeah, we’re the ones on the quest,” he says vaguely, clearly still not used to just <i>telling</i> people about their plans.</p>
<p>“Gods! People were saying you were heading towards Susea but it’s hard to tell what’s true in all the chaos, you know?”</p>
<p>She’s bubbly and uncoordinated, and topically, it’s cute, but George really wants to get a room at an inn and finally be able to lay down on a proper bed for the first time in forever and kiss Dream senseless.</p>
<p>“I’m guessing you’re here for rooms?” She asks, not giving them time to respond to her last statement.</p>
<p>Dream sends him a glance, and if George knew him even the slightest bit less, he wouldn’t be able to understand it with Dream’s mask in the way. George <i>does</i> know Dream though, and he can see the panic in the other’s shoulders and jaw and speed of motion, because Dream hates dealing with other people.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but about that一 the guards pointed us here, but it seems,” George glances around, searching for a word, “ornate. We were just going to ask for directions to somewhere cheaper一”</p>
<p>“Cheaper? Stars, no!” she exclaims, and George watches Dream flinch minutely. “Gods, this place is free for you two, of course it would be.” Her voice is kind and bright, and wholly overwhelming for George.</p>
<p>“Uh一” Dream starts, ready to protest.</p>
<p>The woman interrupts him. “Nope, no arguing, unless you specifically want to stay in one of the small, shitty little tavern inns out in the slums, you two each have a room here,” she states, rustling around her desk to pull out a thick book full of what looks like room bookings. </p>
<p>Dream opens his mouth to say more, but George sets a gentle hand on his shoulder. The blond’s posture deflates, relaxes instantly, and George loves him so much, loves that he can do that for Dream.</p>
<p>“Here! We have two of our B list rooms open next to each other. Anything fancier and you two would be a few rooms away.”</p>
<p>George looks at Dream, and Dream glances at George. “Er, yeah, we only need one,” Dream acquiesces. Even if they weren’t together in the way that they are, they would only need one room. Years of sleeping in each other’s presence has solidified that. The idea of not being within constant reach of the other is mildly terrifying, and it sends spikes of anxiety shooting across his skin, sends shots of ghost-pain through George’s healed wounds. </p>
<p>“Oh!” She pauses for a minute, seemingly thinking through their words, before nodding. “Okay, then we have…” the woman looks down at her book again, flipping through pages. “Are you two staying for the festival?” She asks idly as she searches for whatever she’s looking for.</p>
<p>“The festival?” George questions in reply, racking his head for what she’s talking about. When it hits him, he repeats, “<i>The</i> festival? That’s coming up?”</p>
<p>The Festival of Light is a yearly event, two days of celebration throughout the streets of the city, in which people prepare for the coming of the new season and the lengthening of days. On the second night, at sunset, everyone lets a lantern go, to rise into the sky like stars as the sun sinks below the horizon, illuminating the night in a show of beauty untold.</p>
<p>“The very one! It starts in a few days,” She replies, grinning.</p>
<p>George can feel his face light up as he turns to Dream. “Can we?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even but failing miserably. He knows he sounds like an excited kid, but he’s not above sending Dream puppy eyes to get what he wants. Dream looks back at him before turning away.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure, George…”</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes. “C’mon Dream,” he whines, not caring that this random person is seeing this side of them. “We’ll be here for at least three days looking anyways, why not stay a little longer?” With a grin, he finishes, “We deserve a break.”</p>
<p>Dream finally looks back at him, and George watches the exact moment Dream breaks.</p>
<p>“We’ll think about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Susea is not a place Dream likes to be. The way that those who have wealth sit on golden thrones eating fine meals while those with none starve in broken houses pisses him off. He hates how clearly visible the line between rich and poor is in the city. When his village burned down, he wandered aimlessly for a long time and ended up in Susea. He thought that maybe he’d be saved, maybe he could get a job as a guard, maybe he could find stability.</p>
<p>Dream was regarded as mud on the path.</p>
<p>He left, quickly, after that.</p>
<p>A few years after that, he passed near the city, this time finally with a purpose in his step, practicing killing bad things, learning how to survive in the wild, looking for any word on the Ender Dragon. It was then that he saw the light festival for the first and only time. He was outside the city walls, a few miles away, and he watched the lanterns rise like fake stars, and decided he hated it.</p>
<p>It represents naivety and irresponsibility. The city acts like, for a night, the lanterns will fix all of their problems.</p>
<p>Dream knows it never will.</p>
<p>It was that night, cold and alone in the nearby plains, bitter and driven and afraid, that he decided he would never go to the festival if he could help it.</p>
<p>And here George is, sending him looks that make him feel so indescribably soft. Dream can feel his resolve shatter, but he’d rather talk about it more in the privacy of their room.</p>
<p>“Well here,” the receptionist, a non-threatening, bumbling woman barely older than George, says. “Are you two sure you only want one room?”</p>
<p>They both nod in unison.</p>
<p>She laughs a bit, before continuing, “Then you two have the suite. On the house.”</p>
<p>
  <i>The一 the what?</i>
</p>
<p>“The suite?” George asks, dumbfounded.</p>
<p>“Yep! It’s free right now, and if you two only need one room, then that room is yours!”</p>
<p>She pulls out a key, and Dream looks at it for a moment.</p>
<p>“Well, thank you,” Dream manages, accepting the key. </p>
<p>George shoots him an incredulous look.</p>
<p>“You can order a bath sent up at any time, although we’d prefer it to be some time not in the night. All baths and meals come with the suite. Just take the stairs all the way up, it’s the door at the top. I hope you enjoy your stay.”</p>
<p>George is silent until they get into the hall that leads to the spiralling staircase.</p>
<p>“You actually accepted that? You? Dream?” Teasing incredulity colors his tone bright, his eyes sparkling in unspoken excitement. Dream would do anything for him. Anything.</p>
<p>“While we’re here, we might as well take advantage of it,” he acquiesces, pretending that he’s not also excited at the prospect of living large for a few days.</p>
<p>George laces their hands together with a grin, and Dream feels warmth blossom in his chest. He’s gorgeous, and kind, and talented, and Dream can’t comprehend how lucky he’s gotten but he can’t fathom his life without George. Dream without George…</p>
<p>He might as well be nothing.</p>
<p>But it’s <i>okay</i>, because Dream will never have to be without George. He’s sure of it, at this point.</p>
<p>They walk hand in hand up the stairs, making idle conversation about nothing at all, and Dream feels so comfortable with George. Even if all of this ends with him dead, he’s happy he gets to spend it with George.</p>
<p>The doors at the top of the stairs are ornate, glass and metal worked into delicate, intricate designs. The inside has sweeping curtains in a deep blue to cover the doors should they want privacy.</p>
<p>The inside is large, and Dream didn’t quite notice, but they’re up <i>high</i>.</p>
<p>There are chaises and chairs around a fireplace, a desk against one wall, and a large, real, plush bed in the center. Not pallets or hay-stuffed sacks—</p>
<p>A real, actual bed.</p>
<p>The walls are barely walls, just large quartz pillars with glass between them, the same blue curtains pushed to the sides. There’s soft carpet under their feet, and everything feels ornate to a fault.</p>
<p>It’s gorgeous.</p>
<p>Dream could never see himself living somewhere like this, but he can’t lie and say that he’s not a little excited to be here.</p>
<p>He’s barely gotten his mask off his face and his pack off of his shoulders before George is on him, pressing against his chest.</p>
<p>Their lips meet in a clash, and Dream immediately presses back, wrapping his hands around George’s waist. He loves the way his hands feel large against George’s sides, adores the way George has to reach up to get to him.</p>
<p>He stands up straighter, feeling the way it drags George up, closer to his chest.</p>
<p>It’s not enough but Dream pulls away, laughing at George’s responding whine. “Baby, come on,” he coos as the brunet chases his lips. They press together softly, and George tastes like the peaches they’ve been eating as they travel. He tastes like sugar and sea salt and happiness, and Dream loves him, so, so much. “<i>George</i>,” he whines, pulling away again. “We’ve gotta get settled in and then talk about our plan.”</p>
<p>George steps away with a petulant huff, but Dream knows the other is far from actually upset. He watches the shorter hide a smile and turn away to walk further into the room, and Dream is so enamored.</p>
<p>In a breath, he swoops forwards and wraps his arms around George’s middle and burying his face into George’s shoulder, nuzzling there playfully.</p>
<p>“Hey, Dream! Let me go!” George laughs, voice bright and lovely.</p>
<p>“No,” he chimes before picking him up and spinning him around. George flails playfully in his grasp, and they’re both laughing, joy filling the neat, fancy space with warmth.</p>
<p>When Dream stops and sets George down, he twists around in the younger’s arms so they’re face to face.</p>
<p>He places a careful, soft, callused hand on Dream’s jaw, and his eyes are sparkling, dark and so, so perfect.</p>
<p>“What happened to ‘we have to stop’?” He teases, but his voice is quiet, gentle and intimate in a way that steals Dream’s breath.</p>
<p>“You know I can’t stay away from you,” he murmurs, eyes drifting down to George’s pink lips, pulled taut in a small grin.</p>
<p>“Good,” George replies, tone hushed.</p>
<p>His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, dragging it back into his mouth as it goes. The skin comes out momentarily swollen and glistening, and Dream can’t help but start to lean in, the only thought on his mind is getting his mouth on George’s, tasting him again, feeling him again.</p>
<p>Their lips meeting sends sparks down Dream’s spine, like fire dancing across an oiled surface, water sliding across glass. He slides his hand under George’s shirt and starts running across the warm skin. He knows George likes it when Dream touches his sides, so he does, trailing feather-light touches across the other’s side. George shivers in his hands and moans into the kiss, and it lights something in Dream.</p>
<p>He stoops down more, grinning into the other’s lips, and wraps his free arm under the curve of George’s butt. Using his hand on George’s side for support, he lifts the other up. George doesn’t even pause, just wrapping his legs around Dream’s hips. Dream bites at George’s lower lip, dragging his teeth across the skin, before pulling off of the other’s mouth. As he starts walking towards the bed his mouth lands next to George’s swollen lips, laying wet kisses along the skin. It’s rough with the other’s stubble, and Dream loves the way it scratches against his lips. He runs his tongue along the underside of George’s jaw, admiring the way it prickles and tingles at the sensation. George pulls in a breath, a small, high pitched noise escaping his throat, and shifts his hips against Dream’s stomach. Dream can’t help the groan he lets at the pressure he feels, biting down on George’s jaw before nipping at his earlobe.</p>
<p>They reach the bed, and Dream sets George down gently as he can. He takes a second to admire the other, dishevelled with kiss-swollen lips and dark, sparkling eyes.</p>
<p>“Hurry up Dream,” George groans, letting out a shaky exhale. Dream, not one to tease his love, climbs on the other, feeling the bed dip under their weight, and gets back to work.</p>
<p>Heat coils in his stomach as he traces a path down George’s neck, pulling a litany of little noises out of the other. George lifts his legs and wraps them around Dream’s waist, squeezing his strong thighs around him. It feels like heaven. Dream could do this for forever.</p>
<p>George rolls his hips, deliberately rocking down so his ass hits Dream’s cock, and Dream moans against George’s at the feeling.</p>
<p>They’ve never done anything more than given each other handjobs, and as amazing as it feels, Dream wants to go farther, wants to find out how it feels to be buried deep in George, pressed together, connected in a way he can barely imagine.</p>
<p>Tonight isn’t the night for it. He knows it has to be really special. He wants to give George the world when it happens.</p>
<p>“C’mon,” he rumbles against George’s lips. “We really do have to get settled in at least.” Dream sits up, mournfully removing himself from where he’s positioned between George’s thighs. George just nods, frowning slightly. </p>
<p>Standing, Dream walks back to the door and closes the curtain before looking around at the glass walls surrounding them on three sides.</p>
<p>They’re high up enough that he doesn’t need to hide them from the glow of the night, so he doesn’t. Carefully, he toes off his boots, seeing George doing the same where he’s sat on the edge of the bed.</p>
<p>Slowly but surely, they arrange the room to their liking, making sure their weapons and his mask are near to the bed should they need them and putting their packs in a spare chest.</p>
<p>He takes off all of his holsters and pouches and knives until it’s just him, just Dream in traveller’s clothes in a room meant for a king.</p>
<p>When there’s nothing else to do, Dream drapes himself across George’s back where he’s looking out the window. The other leans into his chest.</p>
<p>“I’ve decided,” Dream purrs into George’s neck, content to just exist like this. They’re looking over the city, and from this high, all they can see are the twinkling lights decorating every building, the smoke coming from chimneys, and the castle, standing tall and graceful in the distance. “That we can stay, for the festival.”</p>
<p>George hums. “I know. You decided in the lobby. I watched you.”</p>
<p>He laughs against the other’s skin. “Of course you could tell.” A moment of silence passes as they bask in each other’s warmth. “I would do anything for you, George. All you have to do is ask.”</p>
<p>George ducks out of his hold, leaving Dream grumbling. He was really comfortable. His annoyance at being dislodged is swept away when he sees George’s mischievous grin, and the heat from earlier rears its head.</p>
<p>“Then kiss me again.”</p>
<p>Dream is all too happy to oblige.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They spend the next day in the library. It turns out that word got back to the castle through the guard that they’re here, and when they got to the library, someone was there to escort them in.</p>
<p>The first day in the library turns up nothing, and the second day doesn’t either. The first night finds Dream’s hand down George’s pants, watching the other writhe under his touch. The second night finds them naked, splayed out on the bed, Dream’s hand holding them together, bringing them through the layers of heaven with smooth then jerky then frantic movements, until they’re laying, blissed out, safe in each other’s arms.</p>
<p>The third day brings the dawn of the festival, and Dream wakes up wrapped in George’s hold, safer and more content than he’s been in so long. He revels in the morning sun creeping up the horizon, sending golden rays through the wall of windows. It warms the room even after the fire died in the night, and Dream basks in it. George is laying on his chest, arm wrapped around his ribs, head pillowed on his shoulder. His brown hair tickles Dream’s chin, his soft, huffing breaths warm a spot on his bare chest.</p>
<p>He’s beautiful, and Dream is so, so in love.</p>
<p>Two days of research got them about one third of the way through the libraries. They were watched the entire time, but it’s okay. It’s easier than trying to sneak about in secret, and it’s almost funny to see the keepers of the library watch in awe and horror as they walk through rows and rows of shelves, pulling books off and flipping through them at speed before putting them back. Any book that seems worthwhile goes in a stack to go through near the end of the day.</p>
<p>Four more days of full research and they’ll be done.</p>
<p>Four more days here at least, not even including the two days of the festival, of blissed out nights and perfect, safe mornings.</p>
<p>Dream could get used to it.</p>
<p>It’s not perfect, but with George in his arms, it’s bearable. Good, even.</p>
<p>It’s George that makes it all okay.</p>
<p>Looking at the other’s sleeping form on his chest makes his heart settle. Maybe the end of the world would be okay if he gets to spend it with George.</p>
<p>But George is all the more reason to save the world.</p>
<p>Dream watches as his love’s eyes flutter, long lashes brushing his cheeks. In the warm light of the rising sun, he can make out a light dusting of freckles decorating George’s cheeks. They’re nowhere near as obnoxious as Dream’s own, but Dream likes them like that. Fine, almost dainty. Imperfection creating art.</p>
<p>George shifts on his chest before blinking his eyes open. The sun highlights his brown eyes golden, and they’re ethereal. George likes to say that Dream is some sort of god, but looking at them now, George is by far closer to a god than he is.</p>
<p>How did he get so lucky?</p>
<p>When George looks at him, sleepy and smiling, Dream falls in love all over again.</p>
<p>“It’s the first day of the festival, baby,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss to George’s forehead.</p>
<p>The other, gradually waking up more, starts to sit up. Dream instantly missed the warmth, but takes a moment to stare at George’s bare torso. The sunlight caresses all of his scars, defining his muscles, hallowing him. Dream wants to worship him. “What are we gonna do?”</p>
<p>Dream sits up, pulling George towards him into his chest. George goes willingly, tilting his head up at Dream to show him a bright grin.</p>
<p>“I figured we’d just go and see what there is to do.” Dream kisses George on the forehead. “There are booths lining the street, we passed them on our way back yesterday. I think there’re also games and shows.” A moment passes in silence, in which Dream realizes he’s rocking them back and forth softly. “Tonight, they have a fire show. They dump a bunch of flowers and minerals into the fires, and they change colors. Or at least that’s what I heard.”</p>
<p>George hums. “It sounds nice. Whatever we end up doing, I’m excited.”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>They sit in silence, watching the sun rise the rest of the way, pressed together, happy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my god, Dream! Look at these!” George cheers, pulling Dream along by the wrist through the crowded streets. The booth they’re at is filled with knives, swords, and axes. They range from short to long, well crafted, made from a range of materials. Dream spots a wooden knife, intricately carved into something beautiful, sat next to a long gold sword with a hilt made of bone and redstone. A lot of them seem to be for show, made to look fancy rather than be useful, but there are some…</p>
<p>Dream spots a long iron sword, practical but clearly deadly sharp. Next to it is a cross-chest band of compact, sturdy throwing knives. There are other weapons built for combat, and Dream itches to pick them, test their balance, see what they’re like.</p>
<p>That’s when he sees the sign.</p>
<p>
  <i>Ask about Diamond Weapons.</i>
</p>
<p>He left his iron axes in their room, not wanting to intimidate the crowds too much. Instead, he opts for a series of knives concealed across his body. The axes though, they’re dull with use. One has a thick burn along the handle from a mishap in the Nether. The other has a chunk taken out of the blade.</p>
<p>Dream takes a moment to think. The emeralds, many stolen, many bartered, sit heavy in the pouch at his hip.</p>
<p>He probably has enough to spare.</p>
<p>He can make himself new iron axes. He knows how to, can get the resources easily enough.</p>
<p>Nothing really compares to a properly forged weapon, and diamond weapons are rare and invaluable. They don’t chip, don’t dull quite so quickly, don’t break apart after too many swings.</p>
<p>Maybe he could barter the price down too, if they even have a set of diamond axes.</p>
<p>They probably don’t.</p>
<p>“What are you looking at?” George asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.</p>
<p>No, he shouldn’t waste the money. Who knows when they’ll need it in the future, for rooms or food at towns, for new armor they don’t want to be stingy about. It’s not worth it.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” he replies, looking away from the sign to flash a smile at George. “What were you looking at?”</p>
<p>George flushes a bit as he grins. “Okay so, it’s kind of dumb, but I’ve always kinda wanted a thigh holster for a knife. This one is just so pretty too,” George explains excitedly. Despite the clear wish for one, it’s obvious that he’s not even considering buying the item. It’s a thick leather, a belt linked to a small strap. The leather is tooled with beautiful designs, dyed a rich turquoise blue, and the buckles shine of sparkling brass.</p>
<p>George’s eyes sparkle at the fun idea, at having something so masterfully crafted, and it warms Dream to the core. He knows that he has to get it for the other. It’s not even a question.</p>
<p>The image of George wearing something that accentuates his decidedly perfect thighs might play in a bit as well.</p>
<p>Grinning, Dream hums. “Do you see a knife you think goes with it?”</p>
<p>George shoots him a look, realizing what he’s getting at. “Dream, <i>no</i>, no you are not actually going to follow through on that一”</p>
<p>“Georgie,” he sings, mischief filling his words, “I wanted to know if there’s a knife here that you like.”</p>
<p>George must know that he’s not letting it go, because he turns back to the lengthy display. The sun is warm around them, warding off the early spring chill, and the sound of people bustling around them is oddly cheery. Normally, so many people would freak Dream out, and to an extent it still is making him nervous, but somehow, it just feels… alive. Festive.</p>
<p>He supposes with a grin, hearing jaunty music float through the air, that a festival would be rather festive.</p>
<p>“That one,” George says, pointing to a knife and sheath laid out next to each other a bit down the table from the holster. The knife’s blade is about the length of Dream’s hand, a sturdy, sharp iron blade decorated with a swirling acid-dip pattern. The handle is dark oak wood and brass, a perfect emerald set solidly into the end. It’s sheath is a honey brown with a cascade of fire orange leaves carved down the length. If he’s being honest, it’s gorgeous. It fits George so well.</p>
<p>Dream smiles. They walk away with a slightly lighter pouch, but they’re both grinning a little, and the knife and holster sit safely in George’s bag. Dream would pay his entire self, to see George smile. A few emeralds is absolutely nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they walk the crowded streets, getting a lot of weird and awed looks, bouncing booth to booth to booth, they laugh and live normally for the first time in years. The sun rises high in the sky and starts to set low. Dream forgets about the weapons booth easily, snacking on sweet foods he shares with George and watching street performers from afar. In the bustle of the crowd, they can easily get away with locking their hands. No one can see between the bodies rushing by on all sides of them.</p>
<p>As the sun starts to set, the city guard starts lining up at every brazier lining the streets, carrying platters of flowers and crushed stones. The braziers are decorated in the correlating flower that will be burned there, alternating in color down the path. It’s gorgeous, and he mourns the fact that George can’t see the full beauty. It’s a full rainbow down the path, red to purple, repeated again and again as far as he can see down the main road they’re on.</p>
<p>The bustle starts to slow, people milling around and getting ready to watch the spectacle of the night.</p>
<p>They slow to a stop between blue and green, and hidden in the throng of people, George leans against Dream’s shoulder.</p>
<p>He knows that they’re noticeable, that his mask sticks out in a crowd, that anyone could see the way they stand too close, could ridicule them for it, could ruin their reputation and get them kicked out of the inn they’re staying at.</p>
<p>Dream can’t bring himself to care.</p>
<p>The sun dips below the horizon in a fiery display of oranges, reds, purples and pinks. A low bell is rung, the sound spreading through the painted evening like deep ocean waves, and the world holds its breath as the guards raise the platters in unison. Flowers and metal powders tumble into the flames, and suddenly the night explodes into a kaleidoscope of color. Vibrant oranges mingle with powerful yellows, and flickering red meets burning purple on the white stone of the street overhangings. In front of them, green and blue intertwine, casting the world around them in the colors of Dream’s heart.</p>
<p>He wraps his arm around George’s waist and lets himself breathe in the floral smoke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes of jarring color pass before the flames fade back to their normal flickering orange, and Dream basks in George’s warmth against his side for one last moment.</p>
<p>He pulls away and smiles gently at George. “Thank you for asking me to stay,” he murmurs, linking his hand with the other’s. </p>
<p>George smiles back at him, and his eyes are an entire universe of their own. “Thank you for staying,” he answers.</p>
<p>The world picks up around them, people parting effortlessly to pass by their stationary forms, but for all Dream cares, he and George are the only people around for miles.</p>
<p>“Do you want to start heading back?” he asks softly.</p>
<p>George smiles at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I actually wanted to do one last thing, but you should head back. I’ll meet you there soon,” he replies, setting a hand on Dream’s hip. George glances around, and, deeming it safe, quickly pulls their interlocked hands up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Dream’s hand.</p>
<p>“I can go with you baby, I don’t mind.” Dream feels like he’s floating in George’s presence, knows he could get lost in the other’s smile if he just lets himself.</p>
<p>George bites the corner of his lip briefly, trying to control his smile. “No, no, I just need to do one thing.” He pulls his hand away, and Dream’s feet land back on earth. “You go, I’m gonna meet you back at the inn.”</p>
<p>As he starts to step away, a shot of anxiety goes through him. Suddenly, he’s reminded of all of the people around them. His hand darts out to grab the other’s wrist. “George, wait一”</p>
<p>George smiles at him, steady and sure. “I’ve got six knives on me, Dream. I’ll be safe.”</p>
<p>The tension drops from his shoulders as suddenly as it came, and Dream smiles back. “Promise?” he asks, playing with the other’s hand without a thought.</p>
<p>“Of course, love. I’ll see you soon.” With that, George is gone in the crowd, walking back in the direction they came from. Dream watches him until he can’t anymore, finally turning and walking in the opposite direction, wondering what George is so adamant about doing on his own.</p>
<p>It’s only a few steps later that he realizes George snatched the emeralds off his belt when he kissed Dream’s hand, and he laughs.</p>
<p>
  <i>How lovely. How wonderfully strange.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s been in the room for barely ten minutes when he hears George on the stairs. The other must have been quick, because even though Dream was slow getting back, he was definitely closer to the inn than George for wherever he went.</p>
<p>Dream’s stripped out of all of his outer layers and lit a fire. Water is being heated and sent up through a dumbwaiter on the one walled side of their room in large, heavy buckets, and he’s carefully pouring them into the large wash basin in the corner of the room. Dream is excited to soak with George after their pleasant day, and the bath is almost ready. It’s perfect timing.</p>
<p>The door opens, and Dream sees George, glowing in the blue light of the sea lanterns, trying to hide something behind his back.</p>
<p>Dream pours the last bucket of water into the stone basin, lighting the low burning fire under the tub before turning to George, who’s grinning like he’s won the world in a carnival game.</p>
<p>“Whatcha got there?” Dream asks, curiosity and humor warring in his tone.</p>
<p>George bounces excitedly, but keeps his tone playfully sweet as he sings, “Nothing.”</p>
<p>Dream sets the empty bucket back in the compartment before hitting the button that sends it back down to the base floor. He closes the trap door, saying, “It doesn’t seem like nothing, Georgie.”</p>
<p>“Hm,” the brunet hums, still bouncing lightly. “Why don’t you come over and see then?”</p>
<p>Dream grins.</p>
<p>Really, he has no other choice.</p>
<p>He walks over, crowding George back into the wall and standing close enough that the other has to look up to make eye contact.</p>
<p>“Not gonna show me, baby?” he asks, voice teasingly low.</p>
<p>“Mm, maybe for a price,” George replies with a grin, still holding the mystery item behind his back with both hands. Dream thinks he sees something sparkle in the light, but decides to play along instead of just looking.</p>
<p>More than just play along, he thinks he might get back at George for the teasing in a way of his own.</p>
<p>“I know,” he drawls in fake realization, leaning in closer and placing a light kiss on George’s jaw. “I’ll close my eyes. Hide whatever it is, then I’ll pay up. Show me after we bathe?” He purrs into the other’s ear. He feels George shiver at his breath sliding across his skin, and he can feel the atmosphere shift from playful excitement to something headier, thick with lust.</p>
<p>“Then close your eyes,” George manages, voice shaking a bit in the middle yet still somehow commanding in it’s own right.</p>
<p>Dream straightens up, closing his eyes. He feels George slip out from between him and the wall, can hear him walking into the room to the chests. The low knock of something heavy hitting the shelf reaches Dream’s ears, and he wonders what it is. George shuts the box.</p>
<p>“Okay, you can open your eyes,” George says, and Dream lets his eyes flutter open.</p>
<p>“C’mon baby. We don’t want the bath getting cold.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t think it can, not with the small fire heating the stone basin the way it is, but he’s anxious to get his clothes off, to feel George’s skin slide against his own.</p>
<p>George walks over to him, still by the door, and Dream can’t help but meet him in a slow, smokey kiss.</p>
<p>They start making their way across the room, movements stilted between kisses. Dream slides his hand under George’s coat, slipping it off his shoulders. He carefully works at the buckles of various knife holsters hidden along George’s person, and they’re set on the nearest surface carelessly. George shifts his attention to Dream’s throat, and the sensation sends tingles down his spine. He shivers with the bliss of it, but pushes the other back.</p>
<p>“I’m the one paying here, aren’t I?” he asks, pressing a kiss against George’s temple before pulling at George’s shirt. “Help me get this off.”</p>
<p>George raises his arms as Dream slides the shirt off over George’s head. It hits the floor and leaves the other’s pale chest on full display. Immediately, Dream ducks to kiss a scar decorating George’s chest. The brunet shivers at the sensation, hand carding through Dream’s hair. It sends gentle sparks down his spine, causing Dream’s breathing to catch. His licks along the path of the scar, and it tastes like salt and honey, mixed with something spiced, like the plants George collects for his poultices. Letting his lips trail lower, he nips at one of George’s nipples, sucking at it as George moans and arches into his touch.</p>
<p>He pulls off and meets George’s lips in a lewd kiss. Their tongues brush as Dream’s tongue slides past George’s lips. George wraps his arms around Dream’s center and pulls him flush. He can feel the other’s cock pressing insistently against him and he moans.</p>
<p>Dream rushes them through pulling the rest of their clothes off, the tone of their interactions growing more insistent with every brush of skin.</p>
<p>Soon, they’re both bared to each other in a way they only can afford when, outside of this week in the city, they bathe in a lake or river together. Dream can’t help but drink in the sight, even having seen it just the night before. He’ll never get enough of George’s bare skin, the subtle dip of his muscles shifting as he moves, the perfect planes of his skin interrupted by so many imperfect scars. He’s beautiful, godly in a way Dream can’t even begin to describe.</p>
<p>“Come on, come here,” Dream breathes, reverent, stepping into the warm bath water. He helps George step in after him, but instead of guiding them both into the water, he leads George to sit on the ledge around the edge of the basin, leaning him against the wall.</p>
<p>“Dream, what一” George starts, voice already wrecked. It sends shivers shooting down his spine, and Dream lets it wash over him, feeling heat settle into the pit of his stomach. Anxiety and excitement start to snake through him, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He’s never done this before, but he wants to. He wants George to feel so, so good.</p>
<p>Slowly, Dream lowers himself so he’s kneeling in the water, a shiver wracking his frame despite the warmth. He places himself in front of George, a hand reaching up to gently part the other’s legs.</p>
<p>He wants to feel George down his throat.</p>
<p>He wants it so, so badly.</p>
<p>A pleasant flush spreads across his skin as he watches George’s reaction. His cheeks go bright red, his pupils blowing impossibly wider in the low light. He licks his lips and it looks <i>hungry</i>.</p>
<p>Still, he wants to check to make sure. “This okay?” he asks, and it’s soft in the quiet of the room.</p>
<p>George nods shakily, leaning against the undoubtedly cool wall with a shiver most likely not caused by the cold.</p>
<p>Dream leans in, letting his breath ghost over George’s member before places a wet, open mouthed kiss to his lower abdomen. Spread out in the low, twinkling night time light, George is perfect.</p>
<p>On his knees before him, Dream wants to worship the other until he can’t form a single thought other than Dream’s name.</p>
<p>Carefully, he kisses downwards, sucking gently at the skin where his leg meets his torso, scraping it with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. It leaves a lovely dark mark there and Dream is intoxicated by it.</p>
<p>George shifts impatiently where he’s sat. “Dream,” he whines, clearly wanting more.</p>
<p>And really, what else can Dream do but comply?</p>
<p>He shifts over and, after the briefest moment of anxious hesitation, licks a stripe up the underside of George’s cock. It pulses against his tongue, and George whines above him, panting and squirming for more.</p>
<p>He wraps his lips around the other’s tip, and George gasps for it.</p>
<p>“Dream, please,” he moans, and it shoots heat across Dream’s skin. He aches with how much he needs friction, needs something, or else he’s going to burn alive.</p>
<p>He ignores it all, taking more of George’s length into his mouth. It hits the back of Dream’s throat, and it takes a lot of effort to not cough. It’s not all of George, but it’s enough for now. He reaches a wet hand up and wraps it around the base, sliding his mouth off and back down.</p>
<p>As he goes down again, he flattens his tongue and lets it slide along the skin, pressing up, feeling the vein there.</p>
<p>George writhes at the feeling, and something proud shoots through Dream’s chest. He starts to bob back up and down, rhythmically working his hand around the part he can’t swallow. George is letting out a litany of high moans, his hands scrabbling for purchase as he pants above him; his right hand curls tightly around the edge of the basin, while his left finds a home in Dream’s hair. Unthinkingly, George tightens his grip and it sends sparks racing straight to his stomach, building the pressing fire there. A moan rips out of his throat, sending vibrations across the other’s sensitive skin, and George bucks into his throat.</p>
<p>He gags around it, and Dream can’t tell if he’s mortified or proud of how much it turns him on. He pulls off and gasps for air, letting a small cough out.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, Dream,” George manages, voice a mess. “Are you okay?” The concern is nice, but Dream is a dead man walking.</p>
<p>“Gods, George, <i>please</i>,” he whines, leaning into the hand still in his hair. “<i>Please</i> do that again.”</p>
<p>He knows he’s wrecked, hair a mess, lips swollen, sweating in the warm water, pupils blown wide, aching and throbbing and leaking just under the surface of the water. Dream can feel how flushed he is. He’s losing his mind. He’s never been so turned on in his life.</p>
<p>“Fucking <i>Ender</i>, Dream, fuck.” George moans, looking at him. “Gods, you fucking love this, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Dream can only nod, too worked up to manage anything beyond a keening whine.</p>
<p>George lets out a shaky sigh, pinching his eyebrows together and scrunching his eyes closed, pressing his head back against the wall behind him.</p>
<p>Then slowly, tentatively, George uses the hand tangled in his hair to guide Dream back to his throbbing erection.</p>
<p>Dream goes willingly.</p>
<p>So gods damned willingly.</p>
<p>It’s all he can do to not moan as the tip is pushed back at his lips.</p>
<p>Carefully, so hesitantly, George starts to pull his head down. It gives Dream time to open his throat, and when it hits the back of Dream’s mouth he doesn’t gag. It slides deeper, deeper until he can feel it pressing uncomfortably in his throat, until his nose is pressed into George’s stomach.</p>
<p>It feels so good.</p>
<p>He moans again, making George let out a loud, breathy whine in response. It’s clear that George is using every last ounce of self-restraint to not fuck his throat, but it’s what Dream wants, what he <i>needs</i> right now, and he sets about making George lose all sense of control.</p>
<p>Dream moans again.</p>
<p>It makes the other squirm. George starts pulling Dream off of his cock, and Dream pressing his tongue up, dragging it along the length.</p>
<p>He can feel George’s restraint cracking, and he whines with it. George pushes him down faster this time, still nowhere near fast, but faster. It’s accompanied by a shallow thrust, and it hits his throat jarringly.</p>
<p>It tastes so salty, bitter and unpleasant in a way that is just sinful.</p>
<p>He hollows his cheeks as George pulls out again, and George moans.</p>
<p>It’s an accident when Dream’s teeth graze the other’s skin on the way up, but Dream knows it’s perfect when George’s grip tightens in his hair. He cries out, a bright, beautiful sound, and arches, yanking Dream’s head back down. His cock is forced down Dream’s throat before it’s being pulled out again, and Dream tries his best to keep up, to lick and suck and breathe but it’s so much.</p>
<p>It’s so, so much.</p>
<p>So he justs lets himself be used, a moaning, writhing, wet mouth that George can fuck into and take whatever he wants from.</p>
<p>It feels so good.</p>
<p>Dream can barely take it, feels like he’s going to choke, and it sends rushes of heat across his skin. It’s too much and never enough at once. One touch to his aching length and he’s done for.</p>
<p>George’s thrusts start to stutter and lose rhythm, and Dream knows he’s close. He focuses on making it feel as good as he can, doing his best for George. He’d do anything for George, wants everything from George. Dream moans around the other, long, low and deliberate, and George freezes.</p>
<p>Then, hot liquid is spilling down his throat and tears a welling in his tightly closed eyes as he actually, genuinely does choke, swallowing as much as he can but it’s not enough.</p>
<p>George is whining and moaning, holding Dream firmly in place, and Dream can’t get enough.</p>
<p>He’s so hard it physically hurts, but he wants to be <i>good</i> for George. </p>
<p>When George finally gently removes himself, Dream gasps for air, panting. He can feel tears hot on his cheeks, can feel how flushed he is, can feel his cock leaking in the still warm bath.</p>
<p>“Moon and sun, Dream, fuck, are you okay?” George asks, and his voice is raw and broken yet still filled with concern.</p>
<p>If he was in any state other than his current, he’d be touched.</p>
<p>“Baby, please, please,” he manages between heavy breaths, and if George’s voice was raw, Dream’s voice is near <i>gone</i>. The words feel like sandpaper in his throat and they come out rough and cracked. Somehow, hearing the way George broke him so thoroughly leaves him wanting more.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how he can want more.</p>
<p>“Oh my gods, shit,” George moans, realization dawning on him. He slides from the side of the basin into the water and the gentle slosh of the water feels like heavy touches on his skin. He moans, watching through blurry eyes as George takes him in. “Gods, you’re so fucking gorgeous, Dream.”</p>
<p>“Please! I want一 I need一” he sucks in a deep breath, and he feels like he’s literally going to die. “George,” he pleads, and it comes out as cry.</p>
<p>“Shh, shh, love,” George starts, reaching out and putting a hand on his waist. It feels like pure electricity jolting through his system, and another cry rips out of his throat. <i>It hurts</i>.</p>
<p>But it feels so damn good to hurt.</p>
<p>When George touches him properly, the sensation rolls through him like a tidal wave. It’s so good, pure fire in his veins, too much and not enough. A broken moan tumbles from his lips and he arches into the contact.</p>
<p>“That’s it, Dream,” George purrs, “Look at you, doing so well for me.”</p>
<p>The praise stokes something in Dream he didn’t know he had, and it’s hard to catch his breath between the moans leaving his lips and the ragged pulse of <i>pain-pleasure-pain-pleasure-pain-pleasure.</i> All he can manage to think is that he desperately wants to be good for George.</p>
<p>George leans forwards as his hand pumps Dream to a writhing, shattering mess and kisses him. Dream desperately wraps his hands around George’s back as George licks into his mouth. It’s messy, their teeth clicking, Dream whining into it as his body coils tight.</p>
<p>Every touch hurts, fucking stings like hell, and Dream adores it. He buries his face into George’s shoulder as the fire in his stomach grows, scorching him inside and out. His high, broken moans turn to cries, sound like sobs to his ears but he can’t even bring himself to care because George runs his free hand through Dream’s hair and tugs gently, and the shivers it sends down his spine send him over. His orgasm hits like a storm at sea, crushing through his system and leaving his mind white. All he can do is cling to George as he pumps Dream through the climax, squirming in his arms when it becomes too much.</p>
<p>A moment passes when it’s all too much and he’s vaguely aware he’s letting out a long, continuous, keening moan but he can’t think to stop.</p>
<p>Then he’s being guided up and George kisses him again; it’s grounding in the rush of too much.</p>
<p>They’re soft and gentle, completely swollen and achingly familiar. They don’t press or ask for anything else. They’re just there, easing him into the shivers cracking whip-fast through his system, pulling away the pain and easing it into a numbing, blissed-out pleasure.</p>
<p>Eventually, his nerves calm down and he can feel his breathing even out, George’s hands around his waist feel more comforting than electrifying, and all of the pressure releases from his muscles.</p>
<p>The stone is warm under him, as is George against him, and the more he relaxes, the more he feels like the entire world just ended and was reborn within his lungs. He takes a breath, finally letting his eyes flutter open.</p>
<p>“Dream, love? You with me?” George whispers, words soft as the ghosts of those long forgotten in the quiet moonlight of a cloudless night.</p>
<p>He manages a tired nod.</p>
<p>“Can I move you?” he asks gently, and it makes Dream smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he croaks after assessing how he feels.</p>
<p>He doesn’t feel like lit redstone anymore, he just feels exhausted. His throat hurts too, but Dream is oddly pleased with that bit.</p>
<p>George helps him out of the basin, carefully drying him down first before rushing to dry himself off. George leads Dream to the bed, and he has to focus on walking or else he thinks his legs might give out on him. He collapses onto the bed, George helping him get the covers over himself.</p>
<p>George, still naked, still a vision一 always a vision一 sets about covering the lanterns before they sleep. It’s then that Dream remembers how this whole night started.</p>
<p>“Hey Georgie,” he calls from the bed, breaking to yawn.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“What’d I win?”</p>
<p>George pauses a minute, confused, before realization dawns on him.</p>
<p>“Fucking Nether, Dream,” he laughs, the sound soft in the warm room. He adds wood to the fire before padding softly back over. He goes to the chests, but before he opens them, he turns back to Dream. “Close your eyes and sit up if you can,” he says, voice tinted with amusement.</p>
<p>Dream does as he’s asked, excited about seeing what George got him.</p>
<p>He hears the click of the chest as it opens then closes, and then the bed dips. He feels something long and heavy placed across his lap.</p>
<p>“Open your eyes.”</p>
<p>Dream does.</p>
<p>Sitting across his blanket-covered legs are two ornate axes. The long, perfectly shaped handles are detailed with black iron. The twin blades are glittering blue diamond, held to the wood handles with a similar patterned iron. They’re beautiful.</p>
<p>Truly, perfectly, beautiful.</p>
<p>“George,” he breathes, feeling tears well in his eyes again. “Oh my god.”</p>
<p>“I could tell you wanted to ask, but you weren’t going to, so I did. I- I hope you like them.”</p>
<p>He sounds so unsure, and it breaks and heals Dream a thousand times over.</p>
<p>“I love them, George一 I love you, so, so much. Gods, I can’t believe this,” he manages, voice watery.</p>
<p>George sends him a grin. “I’m glad you like them.” He gently sets them on the ground before climbing into the bed next to Dream. He curls protectively around the smaller man’s form, pressing them together in any way he can.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, baby,” Dream mumbles, already falling asleep.</p>
<p>George grins against his skin.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, Dream.”</p>
<p>They fall asleep together, skin to skin, safe, if just for a moment. And for a moment, they are unbreakable. For a moment, they are perfect.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>When George gets back to their tent after a long, blessedly, terribly numb day, Dream is still there.</p>
<p>How can he feel upset to see Dream?</p>
<p>It’s an emotion so jarring that it somehow breaks through the haze.</p>
<p>He loves Dream.</p>
<p>Seeing him shouldn’t put George through pain.</p>
<p>Where did they go so wrong?</p>
<p>“George!” Dream greets, voice determined and set.</p>
<p>“Dream, hey,” he replies, managing to sound a little more pleased to see the other.</p>
<p>“I made a decision today,” he says. George doesn’t like just how vindictive his tone is.</p>
<p>When Dream doesn’t continue on his own, George bites back an annoyed sigh. “And what was that decision?”</p>
<p>Dream looks solemnly at his hands, like he’s some sort of plagued hero forced to choose between what he loves and what’s right.</p>
<p>“I,” he starts, and his eyes are ice when he looks up at George. “I’m not going to fight anymore until Techno gives me the discs back.”</p>
<p>George physically recoils.</p>
<p>“What?” he yells.</p>
<p><i>...not going to fight</i>.</p>
<p>They’ll lose without Dream.</p>
<p>It takes a moment for realization to strike, and when he looks at Dream, he looks smug.</p>
<p>They’ll lose the war without Dream, and the piece of shit fucking <i>knows it.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy fuck I hope you guys enjoyed! Part two will hopefully be out soon? Maybe? I might fuck around and shift from my normal update schedule to see if I can get it out sooner but maybe not don't get your hopes up. It'll be up next weekend at the latest!</p>
<p>Thank you all so so much for your comments and kudos! And thanks so so much to all of you who've msged me or asked me stuff on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/honkschnoo"> tumblr </a>/<a href="https://twitter.com/crappyravioli"> twt</a>! I love hearing from y'all and I love hearing your thoughts!!<br/>I'll see you soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The City of Light (Pt. 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>...but love the sweet air of the votives.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi!!!!!<br/>We've really reached a climactic point so :0<br/>Thank y'all so so much for all of the kudos and comments, they mean the world to me!!!<br/>This fic is getting so much longer than I originally planned so like wHHOPS sorry I hope you all enjoy it anyways &lt;3<br/>CW for graphic sexual activity from <i>Their lips meet again, and Dream feels like a lantern,</i> to <i>“‘M tired,” George mumbles</i><br/>As always, I highkey rec you listen to <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6QqsGUNJAIAtuis4zDIf9e?si=eqLYoB1xRviJXI2wwRB-Pg">my</a> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3sqSmLhctjkOc1ve7pekCf?si=TRpLC0IcRLe6BjfIQsTucg">playlists</a> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ejrjftAzTMKmgWSU6pUEp?si=B4xnxQm5T7aBRRtd-XtzUw">here</a>!<br/>Hope you enjoy :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dream will never get over the feeling of waking up with George. Even somehow, despite being surrounded by the rich lording their wealth over the poor, streets full of hidden filth brushed beneath the proverbial rug, the city is beautiful when he’s with George. The sunrise highlights the pristine white-walled buildings, making it look clean.</p><p>The sunbeams coloring George’s perfect, soft skin golden make the city <i>warm</i>.</p><p>Here with George, he’s safe.</p><p>Dream is tiring of the city and its bustle of people and hierarchy of liars, but he would trade an eternity stuck here for just a few more mornings in George’s arms. Waking up in his arms makes it all worth it.</p><p>Pinned in George’s hold, he drifts into a syrupy, caramel-sweet state. He’s half asleep, floating in the warmth, carried along by the gentle, rhythmic beating of George’s heart under his ear.</p><p>He’s learning, now more than ever, that eternal bliss is here, on earth, wrapped gently in George’s arms like he’s something precious.</p><p>Dream’s never been treated like he’s fragile before. He’s always been indestructible, and everyone regarded him as such. Normally, being regarded as anything less is insulting. He’s <i>not</i> fragile. He’s stronger than everyone, except maybe George.</p><p>To be cradled though, to be held like anything could shatter him, kept close to George’s chest, makes him feel not only distressingly safe, but more so perfect— whole in a way he’s never been. His entire life, ever since he was left in the village that he was raised in, Dream’s had to break a piece of himself off to use as a shield, and he can take it all, he can take all of the damage and heartache and pain the world throws at him in stride.</p><p>It’s just… nice, to not have to.</p><p>To know that he can put himself back together and not have to worry about checking his back, because someone stronger than him is protecting him.</p><p>It’s maybe why he loves George, on top of everything else.</p><p>Dream protects George from the world with his life, his heart and his soul, and in return George protects Dream from the universe and all its terrible corners with everything he is.</p><p>Despite it all, he thinks that that’s what love is.</p><p>Leaving your own back open to protect someone else, trusting that they’ll have yours in the meantime.</p><p>With his skin on George’s dizzyingly warm skin, Dream falls somehow farther in love. He’ll never be completely unbroken, may only crack and shatter further, may die sometime before they kill the dragon, but for a few days in the midst of it all, Dream begins to heal.</p><p> </p><p>George wakes up with Dream on his chest, somehow asleep despite the blinding glow of the sun singing its midmorning call straight through their windows. Dream always wakes up before now.</p><p>It kind of makes sense though, after the night they had.</p><p>A flush creeps across his skin at the memories and a pleasant chill chases it.</p><p>He had joked that it was payment for George’s gift, but…</p><p>
  <i>Dream had loved every second of it.</i>
</p><p>If he keeps thinking about it, he’s going to have a problem.</p><p>Instead, George shifts his thoughts to Dream’s golden skin, pulled taut over his muscled form, dusted with nutmeg freckles and porcelain scars. He traces the valleys and hills of the other’s form as the sun washes away shadows with careful fingertips, gentler than he’s been with anything, ever. This is a luxury George doesn’t get, watching Dream sleep like this. It takes all of his willpower, every fiber of his being to not fantasize about the future, about nights tucked away in a cabin somewhere, surrounded by plants and the living, breathing earth, holding Dream close. He aches as he doesn’t think about golden mornings after they’ve killed the dragon, safe in each other’s arms, free from expectations and responsibility.</p><p>It hurts, but there’s no point daydreaming about something he can never have. Despite it all, they probably won’t both make it out of the End, and even if they do, George has no clue if Dream will want it.</p><p>No, when Dream is given the option, he’ll choose to marry a lovely woman, and George will be so, so damn happy to watch his best friend settle, happily.</p><p>Because all George wants for his life is to see Dream happy.</p><p>If he can see that, can live to see Dream finally at peace…</p><p>He’ll be content.</p><p>But George isn’t thinking about the future, painted in impassioned reds and breathing greens and untainted pinks, painted all in shades George can’t even begin to fathom, a wash of mystery. Incomprehensible. Completely, totally, unknown.</p><p>So George focuses on what he can understand一 the golden shimmer of Dream’s skin under his hands, the yellow wash of sunlight warming the room, the pristine white walls keeping them safe, the blue of the vast morning sky. George focuses on the present, in all its impossible glory, and it’s okay.</p><p>With Dream here, with him, in his arms, on his chest, George is okay with whatever the terrifying, unknown future will bring.</p><p>It’s only a few minutes later that Dream wakes up. George feels him shift and then stretch, languid and beautiful, against him, legs tangling further with his own. Dream’s skin is undeniably warm, soft despite their constant travel, and George loves feeling it against him. As he stretches, Dream curls his chin down cutely, nuzzling at George’s chest. His hair tickles George’s chin, and his hands flex against his stomach.</p><p>Dream’s eyes flutter open and look at George, and they’re full of spring’s new leaves and summer’s oceans一 unrestrained love let breathe and grow, blooming into a new day.</p><p>“Morning, love,” George offers, voice just on the edge of gravelly with sleep.</p><p>Dream smiles sleepily at him. “G’morning,” he purrs, and his voice is thick and scratchy, almost gone. It sends a shiver across George’s exposed skin, instantly sending his thoughts to last night. Dream’s mind must also go there, because a flush of pink settles over his cheeks and ears.</p><p>“Listen to you,” George can’t help but breathe, making Dream smile wider even as the flush grows darker. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Dream hums. “My throat is sore, but I’m okay,” He murmurs in a voice that says he’s far better than just okay.</p><p>“Ender, Dream. You’re going to be the death of me.”</p><p>In the haze of the morning light, they kiss. It’s sugar glaze on warm, sweet dough, and it’s fresh, spiced soup in a snowstorm. It’s everything good in the world and then some, no different from any other kiss they share yet still more perfect than them all.</p><p>For now, George will take and take all that Dream is willing to give and it’ll be enough.</p><p>It’s enough.</p><p> </p><p>The second day of the fair goes much like the first, with its bright, bustling streets lined with stalls of various goods and a few games, music drifting joyously along the wind like floral scented smoke. George can feel the infectious energy lifting his already amazing mood, and he can’t help but drag Dream to the open square, where couples and friends are dancing.</p><p>“Might I have this dance, Sir Dream?” George giggles, tone light and happier than he can remember.</p><p>Dream balks. “Are- are you sure this is a good idea?” He asks, sounding nervous. George knows him though, knows that the nerves aren’t anything serious. He feels a grin tug the edges of his smile into something sly as Dream goes red.</p><p>“Do you not know how to dance, Dream?” George asks in answer, laughter just behind his words.</p><p>The blond’s shifts his posture, crossing his arms. George can picture the way Dream’s nose scrunches when he pouts like this, and it only makes his smile grow.</p><p>“I can, I can, stop smiling like that, I <i>can</i>. I just,” he pauses, biting at his lip. “It’s been awhile, is all,” he finishes quietly.</p><p>It softens all of George’s sly edges, and he smiles up at the other. “That’s okay, you don’t have to be good to have fun. And there’s so much else we can do if you really don’t want一”</p><p>“No!” Dream yells in his rush to cut George off. “No, no I want to. I want to.”</p><p>That’s how they find themselves in the midst of a rowdy crowd, hands palm to palm, the bouncing festival music filling the air with life.</p><p>For a brief moment, they’re there, held within the worlds of the other’s eyes.</p><p>Then, they’re swept into the motion of the crowd.</p><p>They twirl in time with the rest of the crowd, making a chaotic, swirling mass of laughing bodies. Dream twirls George under his arm and George stands as tall as he can to return the action. The sun is a dancing vision of heat above them, the earth a bellowing beast under their rhythmic feet, and the wind is one of them, free, keeping them in time, urging them joyfully along.</p><p>As they spin, nose to nose, George can feel the stars breathing through Dream’s skin, alive in his every movement. Dream would hate that George still thinks it, but he can’t help but keep believing in the stars. They’re as much a part of Dream as any freckle on his golden form, and Dream is as much a part of them as any one shifting constellation. In falling in love with Dream, George fell in love with the stars, because they’re one in the same to him.</p><p>Dream lets out a laugh that, in comparison to his sometimes harsh wheezing, seems soft. It almost sounds disbelieving.</p><p>“The amount of pickpockets that are probably in here, George,” he says through his laughter, and it makes George join. “We’ve brushed past so many people, if we were still in the business we’d be rich.”</p><p>It makes George laugh harder somehow, yet in the mayhem of it he manages to keep his footing. He pins his eyes closed and balances on Dream as they keep dancing, held desperately in each other’s orbit like the world has completely ceased to exist.</p><p>“Thank you,” Dream says, intertwining their fingers, “for making me dance.”</p><p>George beams at him. “Of course, Dream. Thank you for dancing with me.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>“You heard me, George. I’m not going into battle until Techno gives me my discs back.”</p><p>“<i>Dream,</i>” George replies, desperately clawing through his head for something, <i>anything</i> to make the other see reason. “What about everything you’ve already done? What about一 what about Tommy? Aren’t you still set on defeating him yourself, after all he’s done?”</p><p>“Tommy doesn’t matter, George. None of what he’s done matters in comparison to the smear Techno is trying to pull,” Dream sneers. “But he’ll fucking learn to try and smear me. Ender, it’ll serve him right. He’ll have to come crawling back to me once he sees his mistake. Then, then I can deal with Tommy.”</p><p>George is struck speechless.</p><p>Who has Dream become? Who is this man, high on power and hungry for more, in front of him?</p><p>Dead is the god who held him in the morning sun, the ethereal being George watched, hallowed among stars.</p><p>In front of him is a man, destined to fail by his own hand if George doesn’t step in to fix it.</p><p>
  <i>“One day you’re going to bite off more than you can chew, and I’m going to be the one that pays.”</i>
</p><p>~*~</p><p>Dream sees it a mile away, and bides his time as they walk down the bustling street. It’s a food stand, filled with warm, freshly seasoned dishes that neither he nor George have had the luxury of having in a long, long time. Especially after dancing, he’s hungry and he knows George is probably in a similar state, but he doesn’t want to rush anything. Instead, he lets them drift from booth to booth, looking at hand-made jars and pottery and exotic flowers and ancient keys made into necklaces. George buys a vial of lavender oil, often used as a perfume, from a small soap booth they pass.</p><p>They continue on and just before George notices the stand, Dream wraps his hand around his wrist, pulling him towards it insistently.</p><p>George looks at the selection of traditional dishes with sparkling eyes, and they decide to split the two meals they get.</p><p>Over lunch they talk and laugh and exist, and Dream loves it all, even with the overpowering sound of everyone around them doing the same. Despite all of the laughter mixing in the air, Dream can pick out George’s perfectly. It’s the most beautiful laugh he’s ever heard.</p><p>The rest of the day passes similarly. Dream picks a cornflower off of a display without anyone noticing and a few booths down, he slyly tucks it behind George’s ear.</p><p>The blue makes the pink on his cheeks stand out and he’s more beautiful than anything Dream’s ever seen before.</p><p>As it nears sunset, George pulls Dream out of the bustle of the street so they can stop and talk.</p><p>“Let’s watch in our room, tonight. With the windows and height, we’ll have a better view there than anywhere else we could be,” George says, quiet in the drone of loudness.</p><p>“Yeah, baby,” Dream murmurs, caught in their little bubble, untouchable to the outside world swirling on around them. “If that’s what you want, I think that’d be lovely. Do you still want to pick up a lantern?”</p><p>At first, Dream had been hesitant to agree to lighting a lantern, but all George had to do was ask once and he crumbled to dust.</p><p>“Yeah, I do. You’ll light it with me on the balcony?” George asks, and Dream doesn’t know when but at some point in the brief conversation he grabbed George’s hand and began playing with it, running his touch along the other’s long fingers, kneading at his palm, feeling his warmth against Dream’s skin. George doesn’t seem to mind, seems to soften at the gesture, so Dream doesn’t stop.</p><p>In the slowly setting golden sun, George’s eyes are a fire of pure gold, a brown so vibrant it’s near red, and they take Dream’s breath away.</p><p>“Of course, George. Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>On their walk back, they pick up a lantern kit from a booth. It’s packed in a neat wooden box, and it’s light, easily carried. The backs of their arms brush as they walk, sending comforting flames licking across his skin.</p><p>It’s hard to distinguish among the thrum of the crowd’s footsteps, on such altered terrain with the barrier of his shoes in the way, but Dream thinks he can feel the gentle hum of the earth as she rejoices in the new season.</p><p>The dying sun leads them back to their inn and they walk up the stairs to their room hand in hand.</p><p>Inside, they unpack their day, knives and outerwear and shoes and bags laying out across the various chests and tables around their room. Tonight, they don’t uncover the lanterns that light the room when it gets dark. Instead, Dream just lights a fire in the hearth while George makes sure all of the curtains are pushed completely out of the way, leaving almost the entire room open to the expanse of the city.</p><p>George is looking out the window as Dream walks up to him on silent feet, wrapping his arms around George’s shoulders and resting his chin on the other’s silky soft hair. George leans into him, honey and salt, ocean waves against white beaches painted in vibrant sunsets.</p><p>The sunset in front of them is pretty vibrant, actually. The sky is a dance of reds and purples, pink clouds against a dark sky, and despite everything, Dream can see a single star peering out, strong enough to brave the city lights. The Dog Star, a torch held in the jaws of Laelaps. The dog is destined to follow Orion all his days, indefinitely hunting the hare.</p><p>If the Dog Star is brave enough to shine through even the darkest of night skies, the brightest of city lights, Dream can’t begrudge it. Not when he’s trying to do the exact same.</p><p>When the sun finally dips below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in burning embers of red and orange, the first bell rings low, reverberating across the city.</p><p>Dream and George watch in awe as the city lights begin flickering off, sea lanterns covered, redstones lamps switched off and lanterns blown out. The embers in the sky fade out, and the city, for the first time they’ve been here, is dark.</p><p>It allows the stars to flicker into existence, but Dream could care less. The moon is bright, lighting the city where it’s dark. George twists in Dream’s arms to face him.</p><p>He’s back-lit by the outside night sky, haloed in silver. His skin shimmers ethereally. They’re so wonderfully close that Dream can see every tiny, faint freckle of the other’s skin.</p><p>Dream leans in, closer, presses himself flush with the beautiful being in his arm. George looks up at him, and his eyes flutter closed as Dream rests his forehead against the shorter’s. For a moment in time, a grain of sand in the desert, a single raindrop in the vast, unending ocean一 for one single forever in infinity, they breathe each other’s breath, they exist as one. Dream can feel the gentle rise and fall of George’s chest under his arms, against his own chest, and all he can manage to do is breathe. To an unknown rhythm, they start to sway, slowly spinning around the room that is theirs for this too short week.</p><p>Dream leans forwards and brushes his lips feather-light against George’s. They’re soft and familiar. In the low firelight, Dream aches with how tender his love for George is. His love for George could level a city, could fell a nation, yet it could also bloom an entire field of wildflowers, could coax a thousand stars out of hiding, could transcend life and death itself.</p><p>Everything about this moment for Dream is delicate and warm, strong in its surety yet precious and fragile in its divinity. The room is awash in low, orange light, casting long shadows that cradle this moment in their pillowed, flickering edges.</p><p>They spin slowly, held in each other’s arms, miraculously avoiding each other’s feet, eyes closed, lips connected. Slowly, their lips come to life pressed together, creating something of divine fire, pure in a way nothing they’ve ever known has been. Nothing, that is, outside of the other’s touch.</p><p>Dream’s hands run up George’s slender waist, one hand dragging his shirt up, while the other brushes delicately across the soft skin on his back. George shivers at the touch, and he’s porcelain in Dream’s large hands. George’s lips part against his, and he licks a caress along Dream’s lower lip. He can do nothing but part his mouth and let their tongues slide warmly together.</p><p>Their clothes fall to the floor like flower petals, slowly but surely, without rush.</p><p>For this moment, they would give forever, and it would be enough.</p><p>It would be perfect.</p><p>Still swaying in the low light, skin bare and pressed so gently, so insistently together that it’s impossible to tell where Dream ends and George begins, Dream rests his forehead against George’s and lets his eyes flutter open.</p><p>He finds George staring back at him, can make out the soft flecks of gold in his irises, and Dream knows George is sacred, not for the gold of the fire and silver of the moon dusting his skin in precious hues, but for the sun shining from his eyes, captured so perfectly in his soul; he knows by the breeze-light touch of his fingertips and the earth-soft thrum of his heart. He knows by the stormy cadence of his passion and the gentle, rolling waves of his breathing.</p><p>Dream knows George is sacred by the stardust on his tongue, and the all encompassing perfection of his kisses.</p><p>As Dream leads them to the bed, carried softly over on a non-existent breeze in the silence of their room, a bubble of perfection cradled within the bustle of the city, the bell rings once more, and the first lantern一 warm, yellow light captured in a white bundle of fabric一 rises into the sky.</p><p>Their room lights up slowly and softly as the sky collects more and more lanterns. They rise like offerings, prayers for something better, prayers for forever, sent off to something larger than them all. Dream settles onto the top of the bed with George between his legs.</p><p>Their lips meet again, and Dream feels like a lantern, slowly rising into the sky.</p><p>The world falls away, and he wraps a gentle hand around both he and George where they press together. Pleasure prickles along his skin, and their mirrored moans sound like calls of worship against swollen lips. Dream works them slowly to hardness as the lanterns are accepted into the sky around them. The lights dance behind his closed eyes, illuminate his skin from the fire in his stomach. He and George rise in the tides of blissful perfection, glowing in the other’s presence.</p><p>Dream knows that this is it. This is perfection incarnate, everything holy he’s ever known, made of bruising kisses and divine brushes of hands across sacred skin. Their every touch is an act of pure worship, every brush of their lips is a prayer whispered into a silent night, wailed into an aching void, murmured into the welcoming lips of the other.</p><p>To Dream, it tastes like the universe, caught alive and burning in their lungs, on their tongues.</p><p>“George,” Dream whispers, and his words build their world. “Can we…” he trails off, not sure how to put it into words. It all feels too small, for what he wants, for what they’d be doing.</p><p>
  <i>Can we become whole? Can we create the universe and all things good within it? Can we breathe each other’s souls in and set this world on fire?</i>
</p><p>“Yes,” George murmurs against his lips, an entire galaxy held within the cadence of a single word. “Please, Dream,” he whispers, voice unsteady against Dream’s skin where George’s mouth rests next to Dream’s lips. “My love, my God, my all.”</p><p>The words send heat through his heart, breaking him down to his barest form. He’s fire and void, laid plain in the hands of the universe.</p><p>“George, my sunshine boy,” he answers, trailing his hand down George’s back, unsure.</p><p>“I got oil, in case we needed it,” he manages between breaths, and Dream remembers the lavender oil George bought. The idea that George was preparing for this makes Dream warm, heats his stomach and sends fire dancing through his veins. So perfect, so truly divine. “It’s on the bedside table.” All Dream can manage to do in response is kiss George’s already swollen lips in a temporary farewell that aches too deeply to describe, before the other shifts off of his lap to grab it.</p><p>In the moment away from George, Dream catches a glimpse of the world outside. Golden lights flicker across the sky, climb from between the buildings and reach daringly ever higher.</p><p>Then, George is back on his lap, more beautiful than any display of artificial lights could ever be. The vial is pressed gently into his hand, and everything he knows is George once more. Wrapping his hands around the other, he pours a small amount of oil onto his fingers behind George’s back. Dream warms it up between his fingers as he kisses George again, the sensation of his perfect lips expanding Dream’s entire world while narrowing it to the idol in his lap. Dream drags his free hand across the planes of George’s back. At the same time, surrounded by the glowing prayers of the lanterns, Dream pushes one long finger reverently into George’s warm form.</p><p>The smaller arches against him at the foriegn sensation, tensing and releasing around his finger, form liquid gold and clouds in his free hand. “Love,” George gasps, burying his face into Dream’s shoulder.</p><p>It sends white fire through his form, scorching him for all he’s worth. A moment passes, still, as George adjusts, and Dream waits. He gives George all of eternity in this second, would tear forever from the universe just to let George cradle it in the palm of his hands. Dream passes the time by placing light, devout kisses to his bare shoulder. Every brush of his lips feels like it warps his soul, entwining him further with George. They’re shifting into one and creating a universe, making the world holy.</p><p>Eventually, George starts shifting, and Dream slowly drags his finger out, pumping it back in. The careful movement sends shivers across George’s skin, and Dream drinks it in like it’s water from the fountain of life, like it’s golden nectar spilling from a wound on the surface of the sun.</p><p>He slides a second slick finger in and George’s breathing catches in his throat. “Dream,” he moans, high and needy, and it sounds to Dream like salvation.</p><p>“I know, baby, I know,” he purrs in reply, an unblemished promise, As George relaxes, he gently starts stretching his fingers adoringly. Another moan is coaxed out of George’s perfect form, and along with the glow of the lanterns still floating into the air, it lights the room.</p><p>The electricity sliding across his skin feels like a million pulling touches, and it makes him desperate. The third finger slides in without problem, and Dream barely stretches him for a minute before George is whining for more.</p><p>Heat coils low in his stomach, and he rumbles, “Almost there, baby.” As he pulls his fingers out, he worships the taut expanses of porcelain skin covering George’s neck and shoulders with his mouth, biting and licking, kissing words of prayer into his collarbone and carving promises in the form of bruises into his throat.</p><p>George moans again, scarring itself into Dream’s brain with holy fire. It licks its way down Dream’s spine straight to his hard cock, throbbing red against his stomach.</p><p>With his hand not wrapped around George’s back, Dream searches for the discarded vial. Upon finding it, he pours just too much into his hand and slicks it down his length. He tosses the vial, safely closed, away, before using his hand on George to roll them. George settles onto his back, and against the plush bed, he looks like a god pillowed in clouds, skin a shimmering mirage of precious materials, gold and silver and bronze. Dream hovers over him, supported on his knees by one hand, and lets his entire world narrow to George.</p><p>All he can think of is how perfect, how godly his love’s form is. How, in his dishevelled state, hair mussed, lips swollen, legs spread, aching and flushed, bruised, marked, <i>completely, totally Dream’s</i>, he looks like an altar for Dream extol his every inch.</p><p>With a shaky exhale, Dream lines himself up with George, and it feels like the universe and all of its ghosts hold their breath.</p><p>Their eyes flutter shut as one. Every nerve is alive in anticipation and their panting breath is a symphony in the silence of their room.</p><p>Dream slides in, and George’s shaking gasp shatters his entire world. Every miniscule inch of his skin lights on fire like he’s been covered in gunpowder, and as he feels George’s muscles flutter around his length, he cries out in pleasure.</p><p>Outside the windows, lanterns fill the sky in a blanket of gold dust. They dance across the black planes behind them, mixing with the silver stars to create a brief moment of heaven on earth.</p><p>George wraps his legs around Dream’s hips and squirms, and he glows under Dream like the lanterns decorating the sky.</p><p>Dream starts moving, shallow thrusts coloring their worlds in a wash of pleasure. It rises like an offering, a prayer for something better, a prayer for forever, sent off to something larger than them both. Dream’s thrusts grow deeper and a moan pulls itself from his throat. The mirroring moan George releases is something akin to divinity itself, and the friction, the sounds, the bliss of every drag of skin is driving him insane. He can feel his breathing go ragged with every pull, can feel his pulse pounding in his ear with every push.</p><p>With the hand not holding him up, he lifts George’s hips up.</p><p>They <i>explode</i>.</p><p>It’s sinful and sacred, just how heavenly it feels, just how deep he can go, how tight and warm and slick it all is.</p><p>He must hit the perfect angle, because George lets out a moan that Dream can barely even process. It overloads his senses, high with pleasure and heat, and sends a cacophony of sweet sparks to dance through his system, pushing him further, driving him mad.</p><p>George writhes under him, doing anything he can to further the pleasure. With a scrabbling, frantic hand, he finds Dream’s hand on the bed, just above his head. Dream shifts to tangle their fingers together, lowering himself unsteadily to crash their lips together.</p><p>Their teeth click and Dream licks the moans and whines out of George’s open mouth. Every thrust brings them closer, a mirror image of holy pleasure and perfect bliss, pure and sacred in every sinful moan.</p><p>Dream loses his rhythm as he gets close, body a lightning storm over George’s restless ocean, and his skin crackles and sparks. A keening whine crawls out of his throat, directly into George’s mouth, and the sound is met by a loud, remorseless moan. It tastes like sweet nectar and sweat. It tastes like reverence, like adoration and smoke.</p><p>Dream is a live wire, and George is a conduit.</p><p>In a display of white light, like the snapping of a rubber band, a crack of branching, reaching lightning into a stormy sea, George cums, muscles tightening like a vice around Dream’s cock as he spills across their stomachs, and it sends Dream spiraling into his own orgasm.</p><p>His entire body is on fire as he spills into George, pumping erratically through the entire experience, until George starts whining from the overstimulation.</p><p>He finally stills, achingly, almost unwillingly, pulling out of his sunshine boy before collapsing next to him.</p><p>Immediately, George rolls over and wraps himself around Dream, and the younger understands, desperately so, the need to be touching. He thinks that should he lose contact with George, he would simply crumble to dust and float away on a gentle breeze. He would shatter apart and feel every second of it.</p><p>Dream wraps his legs around George’s, feeling every sticky inch of skin connecting them, loving it in its disgusting primality.</p><p>The world seeps back in slowly, breaching the temple that their room became, and Dream looks out the window to see the lanterns float distantly on the horizon, a cloud of twinkling lights past the edge of the dark city. He thinks of their lantern, still neatly boxed and ready to be set up and lit, released into the night.</p><p>After another moment of basking in the warm pleasure, a moment in which sleep threatens them both with her delicate words and tempting promises, Dream sits up.</p><p>“What’re you doing?” George mumbles sleepily, pawing at his shoulder in an attempt to get him to lay back down.</p><p>It’s precious, and Dream smiles. “I’ve gotta clean you up baby. I’ll be right back.”</p><p> George just nods, then curls up to ward off the cold that Dream’s absence brings.</p><p>Dream hurries over to the small basin of water kept in the corner of the room and dips a cloth into it, quickly cleaning his stomach off, paying no mind to the way his skin tingles at the touch. As fast as he can manage, he wrings the cloth off in the basin again and brings it over to George, spread out atop the covers.</p><p>He’s a mess, covered in slick, pearly liquid. It drips from his hole and Dream can’t help but stare in awe.</p><p><i>He</i> did that.</p><p>After a moment of staring, he gently begins cleaning George to the best of his ability, until only the marks littering his skin show what happened. He walks away to drop the cloth into a basket for dirty linens and opens a chest pressed against the back wall. It’s got a full set of fresh bedding, including another thick top blanket, and Dream pulls the latter out, making his way over to their stuff where they set their lantern. Then, with the two items in his hands, he walks back to the bed, back to George.</p><p>“C’mere, baby,” he whispers, a prayer to George’s ever ethereal presence.</p><p>“‘M tired,” George mumbles in protest, and it’s so beyond cute. Even still.</p><p>He sits on the edge of the bed, directly next to George. “Get on my back, you won’t have to do anything except hold this blanket. I have a surprise for you.”</p><p>That perks George up well enough, and after a moment of careful shift, he shuffles over and wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, plastering his chest to Dream’s back. It’s warm and sweet, and Dream is in love, is so desperately, deeply in love that he can’t imagine a time when he wasn’t.</p><p>George carefully wraps his legs around Dream’s waist, letting a small groan out in the process.</p><p>“‘M sore.”</p><p>His tone isn’t very pained, more so just whiny, overlaying the slightest touch of something pleased, and Dream cracks a smile.</p><p>He drapes the blanket over George’s shoulders and wraps it around them both, tucking it under his arms so they’re free. “Good,” he replies cheekily. “Now hold this. No one will be able to see us but it’s better to be safe,” he continues, shifting the edges of the blanket into George’s hold.</p><p>Then, with one hand holding the lantern box, the other supporting George, who’s wrapped around his frame like a vine, Dream makes his way for the first time onto their balcony.</p><p>Like he suspected, they can’t see down to the street, meaning no one still out on the street can see up to them. Likewise, the inn is the tallest building around, and with their room being the uppermost, it’s unlikely anyone will see them from inside another building.</p><p>Still, the night air is cool and Dream doesn’t want to imagine how it would feel against his naked body.</p><p>Dream sets the box on the small table out on the balcony, opening it one handed.</p><p>“We’re kinda late, aren’t we?” George asks sleepily, voice soft and warm and breathy where his head rests on Dream’s shoulder.</p><p>“We can stop,” Dream suggests, struggling with one hand to expand the compressed lantern frame.</p><p>“No,” George whines. He wraps the blankets in one hand and reaches out with his other, opposite the arm Dream is using, and holds the lantern still so Dream can pull it open. They work in tandem, breathing synced, actions perfectly in tune, and soon they’re lighting it.</p><p>With one hand each on each side of the lantern to hold it down, George presses a gentle kiss to the space behind Dream’s ear. It warms, warding off the chill of the breeze.</p><p>“Thank you for doing this, Dream,” George murmurs into his ear. There are so many things George could be referring to, yet Dream knows that he means all of it.</p><p>“Thank you for asking me to. I’m glad. I’m so, so glad we’re doing this, baby,” he purrs in response.</p><p>Together, whole, they stand on the balcony, overlooking the dark city of Susea.</p><p>The lanterns are just a glowing cloud on the horizon, all except for the single puff of light grasped in Dream’s right hand and George’s left.</p><p>Pressed back to front, wrapped in each other, held together by a single blanket and the other’s love, they hold the lantern, tethering it to earth.</p><p>In perfect unison then, Dream and George breathe in一</p><p>And they let go.</p><p>~*~</p><p>The day after George learns of Dream’s decision to stop fighting, Dream doesn’t show up to meals or practice, and it feels awkward. Rumors spread like wildfires. The typically rowdy friends eat in silence when a few too many jokes fall flat.</p><p>George doesn’t stay at the table for long and instead rushes off to spend every second of free time in the med tents. He can tell that the head medic wants to tell him to rest for his shoulder, but the number of patients that still need treated is immense and turning away a talented hand would be idiotic.</p><p>Tommy tried to kill George, but in the face of Technoblade taking Dream’s discs, it “doesn’t matter.”</p><p>George risking his life for Dream was “a waste,” because Technoblade took the discs.</p><p>Who is it that wears the smiling mask?</p><p>George doesn’t know.</p><p>The next day at breakfast, Dream shows up to meals like nothing changed and fills their hollow silence with meaningless words boasting even more meaningless acts. No one laughs, no one enjoys it, but Dream keeps trying anyways.</p><p>George doesn’t show up for lunch.</p><p>Instead, he gets it late, spends the typical time helping to heal the people that Dream has doomed in his idiotic decision.</p><p>The prideful piece of shit.</p><p>What’s changed?</p><p>
  <i>What the fuck has changed?</i>
</p><p>The question claws at George’s throat like a wild animal trapped in his chest, feral, anxious, and angry.</p><p>His shoulder aches.</p><p>His heart aches far more.</p><p>He leaves the tent early and gets back late, and he tries his best to not speak to Dream一 to the monster he’s become.</p><p> </p><p>George is avoiding him.</p><p>He figures it out after the third day when he pretends to sleep in. George stays in their tent as long as possible, but the second he starts to ‘wake up’, George is off like a shot.</p><p>What right does <i>George</i> have to be so inconsiderate? Dream is the one who’s just had his entire perspective on the war shifted, the rug pulled out from under him, leaving him shaky and unsteady.</p><p>And then George, the one person, the <i>one, single person</i> Dream thought he knew he could rely on…<br/>
He sneers, because the other option is walking down memory lane and crying, but he refuses.</p><p>Instead, he breaks his past happiness off like he’s snapping an improperly healed bone, and levels it as his shield. If George wants to run away and look out for just himself, then so be it. Dream will do the same.</p><p>
  <i>How did they end up here?</i>
</p><p>Dream doesn’t let himself think about it.</p><p>It’s the fifth day, and Dream has barely spoken a single word to George during any of it.</p><p>They’ve had one fight, on the fourth day, and it was weird sitting in the tent, trying to figure out how to occupy himself with the lovely background track of the screams of war, but he managed somehow.</p><p>Even still, it’s the fifth day and Dream is miserable. Meals are hell despite how damn hard he’s trying to make them normal一 no one is fucking <i>trying</i> except for him, and it’s pissing him off. Not speaking to George feels like slowly soaking in acid, and he hates the fact that George is doing this to them, hates even more so the fact that he’s probably doing it as some fucked up plot to get Dream to join back in the war effort. Dream hates beyond explanation the way that George is siding with fucking Techno of all people, against <i>him</i>.</p><p>He should’ve known that George’s loyalty was cracking the day on the beach, when he suggested they just quit without reason.</p><p>How can George suggest they leave, and then a few months later, hate Dream for not fighting?</p><p>It feels like the older is hand-picking the option that will most anger Dream.</p><p>He doesn’t think he can deal with it much longer.</p><p> </p><p>It’s late evening, moon rising on the horizon, and Dream is fuming on his cot.</p><p>He knows he’s waiting for George to come back and has falsely convinced himself that he just wants to have a conversation with him.</p><p>Dream takes a deep breath and tempers his high pulse. He uncurls his fists and fidgets with the edge of the mask. It’s on. He doesn’t think he can do this bare. Not anymore.</p><p>
  <i>What’s happening what’s happening what’s happening一</i>
</p><p>The flap of the tent is pulled up and George walks in. He’s tired, arm pulled in a sling, and it takes him a moment to notice Dream still up.</p><p>“O-Oh, uh, sorry,” he mutters, trying to turn away and busy himself on his side of the space.</p><p>A beat passes in silence.</p><p>“I wanted to talk to you.”</p><p>He watches George freeze.</p><p>Despite his best efforts, his voice is angry.</p><p>“I’m kind of tired, Dream,” the other grinds out, clearly uncomfortable.</p><p>Dream scoffs. “What, you don’t have time to talk to your closest friend for the first time in what, five days?” he drawls, and it tastes so, so bitter on his tongue.</p><p>“I’ve been busy Dream, especially today. Your little decision to stop fighting has upped our casualty count by a lot. Someone has to deal with it,” he growls, back to Dream.</p><p>“<i>My</i> decision? No, George, this is Techno’s decision, not mine. He knows exactly what he needs to do to win, he’s just too proud.”</p><p>His anger is spitting under his skin, bubbling and popping like white hot lava, and the anger he can feel crackling around George only encourages it.</p><p>“Leave it, Dream. Just let me go to sleep,” George manages, and topically his voice is level, calm even, but Dream knows him better than that. He can hear the tension growing in the drag of each word, can see how close he is to snapping in the set of his shoulders, and all he wants to do is press.</p><p>“What?” he drawls, “Is avoiding me that tiring, Georgie?”</p><p>“I said <i>leave it</i>, Dream,” the brunet replies, voice losing its composure.</p><p>Dream leans forward where he’s sitting, chasing the fight. It’s the most expression he’s heard from George in a while and he’s hungry for more. “Come on, tell me about your day, let’s catch up a bit, <i>baby</i>,” he says slowly, growling the once sweet pet-name out like an insult.</p><p>George whirls around, and Dream knows he’s hit a jackpot.</p><p>“What the fuck is up with you, Dream?” he shouts, and his cheeks are flushed a delicious red in anger.</p><p>“What, you don’t like being called baby anymore, Georgie?” he mocks, and distantly, something protests. Some things are sacred, it screams.</p><p>He squashes it down.</p><p>Nothing is sacred to Dream. Every god has forsaken him, and George has done as much too.</p><p>
  <i>Nothing is above them, above this.</i>
</p><p>“What are you trying to do here?” George asks, jaw locked tight, eyes a dark wall of steely anger.</p><p>It hurts, and Dream relishes in it.</p><p>“I’m just trying to talk,” he says through layers of hazy anger.</p><p>Somewhere, he thinks that at one point, that might have been his actual goal.</p><p>“Clearly you aren’t, or else you’d be acting like a normal fucking person.”</p><p>“And what’s normal, George?” he asks, shooting up to stand. He’s yelling, but he can’t think to care. “Because I’ve been trying to fucking find normal for months and it doesn’t exist!”</p><p>George recoils momentarily before firing back, “It sure as Ender isn’t calling me baby like that!” he shouts, and Dream can hear the pain and confusion but it’s all under the anger, and the fire is already spread too far, it’s too big, there’s no way to put it out now.</p><p>The words land hard. Somewhere deep down, under the haze, he knows that George means hurling the name like it’s an insult, but all he can think is that this is George saying <i>none</i> of it was normal.</p><p>“So it all meant that little to you?” he grinds out, quiet, dangerous.</p><p>George freezes again, and Dream relishes in the way that his expression tears through his own skin like acid.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Deam sneers. “Everything we had, everything we were, never meant anything to you? Was all of it just ‘not normal’?”</p><p>Once the words are out of his mouth, he feels like he’s coughed up poison. All the selfish spitting of his actions, the anger and yelling, are born from the desperate, clawing need to know.</p><p>He watches as a litany of emotions flash through George’s eyes.</p><p>Somehow, Dream can’t understand a single one.</p><p>“You know I didn’t mean that,” he says, voice low and unsteady, a warning.</p><p>Dream lets a humorless smirk. “I don’t think I do, George, not after all of this.”</p><p>George’s expression finally settles on an emotion, and to Dream’s surprise, it’s anger.</p><p>The shorter walks up to him with slow deliberate steps, and he looks like a creeper on the edge of explosion. The dark around them is thick like black ocean waves and they’re two bleeding sharks, searching for their next meals.</p><p>“Listen to me right now Dream, and listen well,” he breathes, and his anger glows hotter than the sun. “I <i>loved you</i>, I loved you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire world, because to me, you did. You were my god damn all, and I gave you everything I had and more.” The haze of anger slowly drifts away; the words that should be comforting feel like knives in his stomach. “I loved you, but people change. And Nether, Dream, you’ve fucking changed.”</p><p>The world stops around him; the air in the tent is stale.</p><p>A knife, stuck so deeply into his stomach that he can taste it, can taste the copper tang of blood rising in his throat, is choking on it.</p><p>
  <i>“I loved you.”</i>
</p><p>There is no knife, no blood on his tongue leaving him gagging. Just the pounding of his pulse in his own ears.</p><p>
  <i>“I loved you.”</i>
</p><p>They said they loved each other all the time. They believed it and meant it, but it was different when it was just them. When there’s not a mass of people looking at them to tell them just how abnormal it is.</p><p>Somehow, despite it all, it was real.</p><p>
  <i>“You’ve fucking changed.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I love you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I loved you.”</i>
</p><p>And now it’s gone.</p><p>Dream can’t say anything, and George leaves. He watches, choking on his pathetic breath, as George walks out of the tent, into the cool night. The phantom pain of his words hang thick in his gut and hurt far, far worse than anything Dream’s ever felt before. Dream doesn’t sleep all night, numb and tired yet completely charged, unable to think. Every second passes, and he feels them pass like they’re years. He can’t breathe, spends the entire night desperately dragging in air that does nothing. Eventually, he numbs to the pain, to the breathless way he’s forced to lay, staring at the canvas tent, and he takes it. He takes it all, and waits.</p><p>George doesn’t come back.</p><p> </p><p>The walk to Sapnap’s tent isn’t long, and George thanks the stars for it.</p><p>He’s cold.</p><p>He can’t really think of much else.</p><p>Not without feeling his breath speed up, without risking curling up on the side of the dirt path and breaking down.</p><p>When he gets there, he stands outside the entrance, trying to decide if this is a good idea.</p><p>He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, though.</p><p>“Sapnap?” George calls hesitantly, and he hears shuffling inside. He’s glad that it’s not too late, glad that Sapnap doesn’t keep that steady of a sleep schedule.</p><p>A breeze blows through, and his cheeks are freezing, damp with tears he didn’t know he cried.</p><p>The tent opens, and there stands Sapnap, disheveled and comforting in his familiarity.</p><p>“George? What’s wrong?”</p><p>He takes a shaky breath. “Can I sleep here tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap frowns, worried. “Of course, but George, you’ve gotta tell me what’s up.”</p><p>In that moment, George feels so, so bad. Sapnap is supposed to be their friend, and he’s had to look at their erratic behavior and try to understand it for months, with no explanation.</p><p>“Yeah,” he manages in an unsteady voice, in an unsteady world. “Of course, Sap.”</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap helps George settle in on the floor, a pile of blankets cushioning him from the hard dirt under them.</p><p>George takes the time to catch his breath, to dry his tears. Sapnap is patient with him, lets him recenter for a bit as the general goes about tidying his tent some.</p><p>“I don’t think I messed up this time, and I think that’s the worst part,” George breathes, staring blankly at the sloped fabric roof above them.</p><p>“George, you’re gonna have to give me more than that,” Sapnap tries, and he’s comforting and tired, and it makes George feel like the world is bigger than just him and Dream.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mutters. “I don’t even know where to start.”</p><p> </p><p>Outside, the stars flicker in the sky, breathing life into existence, cradling the earth in their gentle hands, giving stories to those who need them most.</p><p>“The beginning, maybe?” Sapnap offers, and George nods.</p><p>The beginning.</p><p>George explains it all. The easy way they clicked, the days spent joking as they walked aimlessly through every biome to exist, the nights spent scared of what was to come, the fear一 <i>the knowledge</i> that they were almost definitely going to die before they succeeded. He explains the refusal to talk about their future should they accidentally lose the present in it, and the way that that made it easy, to just exist with each other. He tells Sapnap about the stars and the boy from the Nether, the heartache that followed, and the pressing search for the End. He tells him about the Dragon, the months of recovery, of fear. He tells Sapnap about the aimless days in the mansion, filled with uncertainty and broken touches, and all of it aches. Every word hurts.</p><p>“We came to the war as friends, but something about it, about having a purpose, about the pressure, about the uncertainty一 it let us drift back together. We were dancing on the edge of going back to the way things were, but then…” George takes a deep breath. “I told Dream I didn’t know if the cause we’re fighting for is just, and we argued for the first time I think I can even remember. The second it happened, we both apologized. Stars know it scared the shit out of us. We’ve always been unshakable in each other’s lives. If all else failed, I knew I had Dream at my back, and he knew he had me. But this fight, we didn’t一 we didn’t talk about it, because we didn’t want to make things worse. Things just kept spiralling though. Dream was so, so caught up in the discs, in ruining Tommy, and I realized after- after Techno took them from him that I didn’t recognize him anymore. We just had a fight, and一” George chokes on a sob, bites down on it in an attempt to cage it in his chest. He blinks back tears.</p><p>“You don’t have to finish,” Sapnap says, softly, voice unsure.</p><p>It falls on deaf ears.</p><p>“I told him that I don’t love him anymore. And I- I think it’s true. And that scares me, Sap, so, so much. Without Dream, I don’t know who I am, but I don’t think standing up for myself was a mistake. I just一 is this what we fought for, for five years? This hell of a life destined to hate the people we’ve become?”</p><p>“George…” Sapnap whispers, voice alight with pain. “It’s going to be okay, alright? We’ll figure it out one step at a time, and I’ll help you talk sense into Dream, and we’ll fix it. We’ll get there.”</p><p>George smiles. “Thanks, Sapnap, but for now I don’t think一” his breath hitches and he wipes a tear off of his cheek, “I don’t think I can talk to him. Do you think King Techno would let me set up another tent to stay in?”</p><p>Sapnap nods, and it’s sad but understanding. “Yeah, George, of course. I can ask for you tomorrow if you want?”</p><p>George nods, so grateful to have such a good friend. </p><p>He doesn’t sleep well, but he <i>sleeps</i>, which is better than he could’ve hoped for in any stretch.</p><p>The next day, he avoids meal time to work in the med tent. Sapnap tells him that Dream wasn’t there either. A little after lunch, while Dream is out training their squadron, George slips into the tent and gets his stuff. They set a tent up for him earlier in the morning, near Sapnap’s, and he puts his stuff in there. It’s small but George prefers it that way.</p><p>It feels less empty like this.</p><p>It still feels empty.</p><p>George feels empty.</p><p>He sighs.</p><p>The rest of the day is spent in the med tents, methodically treating those wounded by an unjust war.</p><p>How many people are going to get hurt, going to die, because one soldier’s ego grew too large?</p><p>George doesn’t want to know, but he thinks that he’s going to find out. He pushes the thought out and carefully mixes the salve in his hands and jars it so they have more for later... For the next battle, the next wave of wounded and dead.</p><p>That night, he organizes his stuff and on some level he’s pleased, or at least as close to pleased as he can manage through a fog of self-loathing. He has everything, and he sets it up neatly. Everything, of course, except for the last healing potion, left nestled in Dream’s stuff.</p><p>A parting gift. One last act of goodwill, at least for a while.</p><p>Just as it always does, time continues on, and George learns to continue as well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uh hi hey hi do you hate me I hope you don't hate me but I also hope that maybe you might've cried<br/>I really had fun writing this one, despite it alllllllllll taking me forever to write, so yeah I really hope you liked it :)<br/>As always, comments and Kudos are so so appreciated! Also, if you want updates about my writing or to ask me questions/talk to me personally, here's my <a href="https://honkschnoo.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> and my <a href="https://twitter.com/crappyravioli">twitter</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. To Be Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>You are absent of cause or excuse<br/>So self-indulgent and self-referential</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this is later guys, but it's here now!<br/>Thank you all so much for all the support! It means so so much~<br/>And for the first time, it comes with a bonus lyric:<br/><i>It feels good<br/>It feels good<br/>To lie to ourselves<br/>It feels good<br/>It feels good<br/>To go alone through this hell</i><br/><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/6ug8xD1Q4jhgfE8t7r2ZKl?si=N31AWSD6S8eJavpZWU4wlQ">Solstice by Richy Mitch and the Coal Miners</a><br/>That said, I hope you enjoy the chapter :)</p>
<p>(Cw for panic attacks and suicidal ideation. Panic attack from <i>"Dream can't breathe"</i> to <i>"It feels good to burn here."</i> Suicidal thoughts are a small section in that, from <i>"Choking on the bile rising in his throat..."</i> to <i>"He sits there, crumpled..."</i> It's all in the first section from Dream's perspective. Later, cw for gore from <i>"Desperately, despite the pain..."</i> to <i>"Everything shuts down."</i> Sorry if any of this is triggering to any of y'all :( I hope these CWs help&lt;3 stay safe)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s empty.</p>
<p>Their tent…</p>
<p>It’s empty.</p>
<p>Or, well一 all of Dream’s stuff is still there, and both cots are set up. The second is neatly arranged, something settled on its surface, and every one of George’s chests are一</p>
<p>George is gone.</p>
<p>He scours the tent for any signs as to what this is. He rips his chests apart, scatters their contents across the dirt, barely avoiding the fire. He searches desperately for anything left behind, any sign that this isn’t一 that George hasn’t一</p>
<p>Dream can’t breathe.</p>
<p>Icy fear locks his breath in his chest and his lungs feel like they’re trying to claw their way out of his throat, choking him. The panic filling every crack in his body feels like death itself一 cruel, painful, inevitable.</p>
<p>And yet.</p>
<p>Sitting on George’s abandoned cot is a glass bottle filled with shimmering gold and pink liquid. The glass on the round bottle is uneven, handmade, probably by one of them on the hunt. The cork stopper is worn at the edges but it holds tight.</p>
<p>Their last healing potion, all that Dream has left of George in their tent.</p>
<p>He can’t breathe, but the sob trying to rip out of his body is dragging air through his closing throat and he can’t stop it, can’t help the way it rings, anguish and desperation brought into physical being in the small, empty space.</p>
<p>It’s muffled to his ears and his lungs <i>burn</i> in the hollow cavity of his chest. The ground is solid, hard under him as he crumples to the ground like a felled soldier. </p>
<p>Dream bites down hard on his fist to cut the noise, but the only thing he cuts is his skin. The blood flecking onto his tongue, coppery and bitter, doesn’t register through the heaving breaths trying to make their home in his ribs.</p>
<p>The reality of it all fucking <i>aches</i>, and Dream is dizzy with it.</p>
<p>
  <i>He did this.</i>
</p>
<p>This is <i>his</i> fault.</p>
<p><i>“Come on, tell me about your day, let’s catch up a bit, </i>baby<i>.”</i></p>
<p>He’d sneered the word like an insult.</p>
<p>Dream can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe一</p>
<p>How could he ever do this to them?</p>
<p>
  <i>Dream did this to them.</i>
</p>
<p>What he wouldn’t give to hold George in his arms, to cry into his hair, to break apart in his grasp.</p>
<p>He’s alone.</p>
<p>He’s alone and he can’t breathe.</p>
<p>From the first time he saw George, with stars in his brown eyes and a basket of mushrooms on his arm as he laid dying on the hard ground, to watching his eyes glow in the terrible lava light of the Nether; from shaking apart in each other’s arms just outside the strong hold, to clinging to each other in a too-bright hospital room, to standing outside George’s door just to hear him breathe; Dream has had George, right there. Within his grasp. In his arms. Under his touch.</p>
<p>He and George were supposed to be forever. They were supposed to be always. Unflappable. Unbreakable.</p>
<p>And Dream is alone.</p>
<p>Choking on the bile rising in his throat, he thinks that dying might be better than this.</p>
<p>Maybe, if he hadn’t woken up from the thick fog of the Dragon’s smoke, things would be better.</p>
<p>George would be healing.</p>
<p>And Dream wouldn’t be hurting the one thing he vowed to protect.</p>
<p>The sobs wracking his body send shivers through him. His cheeks are hot with tears. He can’t breathe and it catches painfully in his throat. His pulse pounds in his ears.</p>
<p>Dream thinks maybe it would all be better if he was dead.</p>
<p>He sits there, crumpled, as his skin sloughs off in decay, as the grass grows around him. The earth below him cradles his broken form, the wind wraps around him to quell his shivering shoulders, and the soft glow of the stars forgives him for all of his sins.</p>
<p>Time passes by and the shaking fades, the thunder in his blood quiets. The air slowly filters back in, cold in his lungs, refreshingly painful against his burning, raw throat.</p>
<p>It feels good, he thinks, to hurt.</p>
<p>Like he deserves it, like it's his penance.</p>
<p>So, for an eternity held in the shaking hands of a moment, he lets the pain burn him alive in the cool, early autumn air.</p>
<p>Maybe he’s done good. He’s helped the world so greatly by killing the dragon. Dream has, almost inarguably, saved everyone.</p>
<p>But nobody matters compared to his sunshine boy, his god dusted in the moon and painted in fire.</p>
<p>And Dream took a knife and carved hate into George’s skin, watched the blood poison the world as it oozed down pale skin, as it stained the water and condemned Dream to an eternity in hell.</p>
<p>It feels good to burn here.</p>
<p>Yet in it all, his pride doesn’t burn. It claws its aching, battered, rotting way out of the ashes and lets itself be born new in the raw, scorched cavity of his chest like a phoenix made from hatred, and it settles back in.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t deserve this.</p>
<p>He hurt George but George hurt him right back.</p>
<p>George never tells him anything, just lets the world happen, lets Dream break them apart, and he doesn’t say a word until they’re standing over the wreckage. He lets the dust hang heavy in the sunlight, and he tells Dream that he loved him.</p>
<p>Dream made mistakes, but George is stood on his own high horse, apathetic to it all. He watched as Dream stepped blindly towards a line he couldn’t see, and didn’t say a word until it was too late, until he was standing too far past the line to go back.</p>
<p>Dream made mistakes, but George made just as many.</p>
<p>If it wasn’t for Techno, pushing him into the dirt the way he had, none of this would’ve happened. It would’ve been okay. They would’ve worked it out.</p>
<p>Dream was put into an impossible situation, and he messed up. He doesn’t deserve to be used and then tossed aside by the people he tries to protect.</p>
<p>Even in the cold wind, against the hard ground, with the harsh silver light of the stars and the heavy crashing of ocean waves, anger burns hot in his chest. The broken cage of his ribs is already numb to the heat, and Dream lets it rage on.</p>
<p>It’s better, he thinks, to not think about it at all.</p>
<p>It hurts less, he finds, to be angry, than to be real.</p>
<p>Dream pulls his tired body onto his cot, the healing potion still unknowingly clutched in his hand, and lets himself go numb to everything but the anger.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not his fault, and people need to stop acting like it is.</i>
</p>
<p>It feels good to lie to himself.</p>
<p>With the cool thrum of nothing cradling the hot fire of anger the only thing he can feel, Dream falls asleep.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>L’Manburg is doing well.</p>
<p>It’s evident in the too steady, too fast flow of injured soldiers pouring into the med tent.</p>
<p>It’s evident in the hard set of Sapnap’s, of Bad’s, of Techno’s shoulders.</p>
<p>It’s evident in the solemn air of the camp as he walks back, late at night, to his own tent.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>It stings, feeling this alone while surrounded for the first time in years by so many people.</p>
<p>It stings even more, thinking about what he’s lost. About what they’re all losing.</p>
<p>It stings, thinking about why they’re losing it.</p>
<p>Bloodstained hands that used to hold his own like they were treasure.</p>
<p>Cinnamon and star-dust skin that used to glow under his touch.</p>
<p>A smile drawn on a white mask, hiding a face he used to know, used to love.</p>
<p>Dream is costing them the war.</p>
<p>One god's forsaken man, a god among men.</p>
<p>It’s clear <i>why</i> George fell in love with him.</p>
<p>How could he not?</p>
<p>Yet George can only imagine that some gods fall from grace, that some stars burn so hot that they explode from it.</p>
<p>There’s dried blood under his nail, maybe from the poor girl, barely an adult, who came stumbling in with a sword wound straight through her side, maybe from the man with the heavy gash along his chest, maybe the soul with a sword stuck through their chest and blood dripping down their chin.</p>
<p>George treated them all with steady hands and a shaking, shattering heart.</p>
<p>They all died.</p>
<p>Their blood covered George’s hands, but he can’t help but think that it stains Dream’s skin where he waits, heartless, in the tent that used to be theirs.</p>
<p>George doesn’t understand how he can hear the screaming in the distance and not feel the desperate need to go, to run and help, to ease their pain.</p>
<p>The old Dream would have, George thinks, but somewhere along the way the old Dream died and now he walks alone to his tent, with blood on his hands, and he makes do.</p>
<p>He sleeps poorly, nightmares keeping him up like they hadn’t since his sleepless nights in the mansion, and he goes to the med tents, and he works late into the night, and he watches as people die and die and die.</p>
<p>But he does his best.</p>
<p>And time continues on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream is in the woods.</p>
<p>He had to get away from the suffocating reminders of the tent, of camp.</p>
<p>He’s been out here for awhile, now. A day, about.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>Earlier, he passed a giant clump of chaga mushrooms on the side of a tree. He almost picked them for George.</p>
<p>It hurts.</p>
<p>They’re still somewhere back there, for someone else to find and use.</p>
<p>Dream lights a fire as night falls, not quite ready to go back just yet.</p>
<p>All he has on him are the bare minimums, a flint and steel, a dagger, and his mask. In the middle of the woods, he can take it off.</p>
<p>He doesn’t.</p>
<p>He’s not sure why, but it doesn’t feel right to.</p>
<p>Dream kills a rabbit for food, and it’s bland, tasteless.</p>
<p>He forgot what it was like to eat unseasoned foods. When George started traveling with him, he couldn’t stand the tasteless meat of the various animals they would kill for food, and he took it upon himself to start gathering various natural herbs, sometimes buying dry ingredients to bring with them. George would laugh when he’d make something just too spicy for Dream, but Dream would power through and eat it anyways because he knew George liked it.</p>
<p>It feels like the time before he met George, traveling as simply as he could, doing the bare minimum to stay alive and focusing solely on getting better, going farther, doing more.</p>
<p>He hated that time in his life. Dream was so, so angry.</p>
<p>Right now, alone in the woods, lighting a shitty little fire and eating poorly cooked rabbit for a bad meal, he can’t help but feel like he’s sixteen again. He was so alone, so afraid, so desperate.</p>
<p>When Dream met George, something in his bones clicked back into place. Somehow, everything made a little more sense. </p>
<p>Dream hates that everything reminds him of George.</p>
<p>He can’t run from it.</p>
<p>Instead, he just stares at the fire and burns with it, lets himself be angry because if he’s not angry he’s broken, and Dream’s forgotten how to hold himself together without Goerge here to do it for him.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>“Goodnight Dream!” Marnie calls, voice warm as it fills the little cabin.</p>
<p>“Night,” he answers, pulling open the door that leads to his room in the attic. He’s finally started growing, really, actually growing, and while it means that he has to duck a bit at the sloped parts of his ceiling, climbing out the window to the roof has gotten easier. Despite the thaw starting a month ago, it’s still freezing out. Leaving the warm air of the cabin is jarring, but altogether worth it for the way the stars twinkle their hellos in the crystal clear sky.</p>
<p>From his place atop the roof, he can see the entirety of his small village. He can see the library, where Cal taught him how to read and write, the building that holds all of the stories of the stars he was taught as a baby. He wrote them out himself, so maybe all of his family, his real family, could learn the stories too. He can see the flickering of lava outside of the blacksmith, where uncle Richard taught him how to make a knife, where Aunt Allison taught him how to wield it, how to kill monsters, how to protect the town. He can see Jack’s house, dark with the night, where he’s stayed any time Marnie has to go out of town to trade. He can see it all, all he holds dear, in the scope of his eyes.</p>
<p>A cold wind ruffles through his hair, making his cheeks red with the chill, and he smiles.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he greets it softly, fondly, even as he pulls his coat tighter around his frame.</p>
<p>It swirls around him, almost playful, and he can’t help but laugh lightly.</p>
<p>“Calm down, I’m really happy to see you but it’s cold out. It’s fucking freezing,” Dream admonishes gently. Immediately, the wind calms down. It swishes gentle at his back, light enough to not be cold but still present enough that it’s a comfort.</p>
<p>There are pine trees as far as the eye can see to his right. They slope up a harsh mountain, and while they’re mostly clean near the village, the farther up the mountain they are, the more snow coats them.</p>
<p>To his left is the ocean. The waves lap gently against the wooden pier that his village built years ago, and their water is a deep, dark blue. Dream is far enough away that he can’t really feel them, but he still sends out a hello nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Do you know if the Earth is gonna wake up soon?” he asks the wind idly as more stars flicker to life above him.</p>
<p>The wind darts through the trees around him.</p>
<p>It doesn’t know, but it thinks soon.</p>
<p>Dream smiles. He misses the Earth during winter. Jack’s favorite season is the winter, and he never understands why Dream gets so down. Dream’s always struggled to explain to his friend that he doesn’t like the Earth going to sleep, even though he understands that she needs her rest. That, combined with how early the sun goes to sleep every day, make him… sad. The only good thing about winter is that the stars are out for longer. Dream doesn’t really miss the stars while they sleep during the day, but being with them feels like coming home after a long day. His family is the village, and his friends are the gods. Despite how much he likes hanging out with Jack, it feels how he imagines having a younger brother would feel.</p>
<p>He likes talking to his friends a lot.</p>
<p>The stars above him are bright against the dark sky, and he lets a sigh of relief out. It clouds in little crystals in front of him, and he shivers. It really is cold out.</p>
<p>Looking up, he sees an entire plethora of stars and constellations. Directly overhead, he sees the Great Bear, Callisto. She was human once, but upon angering those above her, was turned into a bear. She never disappears from the sky like some of the other constellations do, and her constancy is so unbelievably comforting. Dream loves Marnie, beyond words, but she’s not really a mother. She’s closer than any of the other people in the village, but she’s not. The woman who he spent the first few years of his life with might be his mother in technical name, but she’s not his mother either. Callisto feels like a mother should. Always there, always protecting him, no matter what.</p>
<p>Just behind her is Boötes, her son. He’s a shepherd, a mere farmer, but he’s Callisto’s actual son. He honestly feels a little like an older brother. When Dream needs advice, he likes to ask Boötes. The shepherd, with his two hunting dogs and his club, has always helped guide Dream to do what’s right.</p>
<p>Then there’s the dragon and the lion, two great beasts, a protector and a killer. The lion is the king of all beasts, the dragon a guard for a great treasure. When Dream feels weak, feels unsteady, he looks to them.</p>
<p>Even more so, he looks to Heracles in his time of weakness. Heracles is the hero of all heroes. He can do anything, and Dream would be lying if he said he didn’t idolize him some.</p>
<p>Dream sits on the roof, shivering a bit, basking in the stars and the sense of safety they bring. He tells Callisto about what she’s missed in his life over the past few days when the sky was a haze of clouds. He tells her about his new sword, fresh iron, and the stiff leather tunic Allison gave him, tells her about the way his mentor told him that he’s doing so well, told him that with a few more years of training, he’ll be the greatest warrior the world has ever seen.</p>
<p>It’s a little self-centered of him, but he hopes that one day, he becomes such an amazing hero that <i>he</i> gets to join the ranks of the stars. An eternity with them, talking to any normal person that learns of them, helping and guiding and being there for the ones who have nothing一 it’s all he can hope for.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep breath, and his exhale looks like the thick smoke rising from the chimneys across the village. He goes to do it again, but a chill wracks down his spine.</p>
<p>“What was that for?” he asks the wind, who’s agitatedly whirling around him, sending shivers across his skin. “Hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay,” he calls, worry mixing into his tone, “what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>It’s then that he hears the ocean, their waves growing in size, rapidly crashing.</p>
<p>It’s then that he hears the groans, distant but clear.</p>
<p>The wind whips around him, insistent, and cold dread fills every inch of Dream’s body.</p>
<p>He thinks he knows what’s happening.</p>
<p>It’s a siege.</p>
<p>He flings himself into the window, into his room, not caring about the noise he’s making. If it was only the sound of distant zombie groans, he probably would have been quiet, simply gone to investigate, but it’s not. The wind is rattling the cabin anxiously, the ocean is roaring in warning. The stars are silent, but they often are. Still, he sends them a prayer.</p>
<p>
  <i>Please, help me keep them safe.</i>
</p>
<p>He picks up his new sword, and it’s heavy in his hand. The leather tunic sits oddly on his shoulders, but he’s used to it by now.</p>
<p>Dream races down the stairs, sword carefully held out of the way.</p>
<p>“Marnie!”</p>
<p>“Ender, Dream! Dream what’s going on? Why are you makin’ such a racket?” Marnie grumbles as she rolls out of bed. </p>
<p>Dream takes a beat to catch his breath. “I think一 I think a siege is about to happen. I was up- up on the roof and suddenly the wind一 the wind started acting up and so did the ocean and you <i>know</i>一”</p>
<p>“Of course I know, honey,” she says, voice calm, but Dream can hear the worry in it. “You heard zombies?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah I heard a lot. It sounds like they’re kind of far but I can’t tell,”</p>
<p>Marnie puts on her boots, pulling a coat on over her sleepwear. “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do, kid.” She says, standing in front of him. “You’re gonna go tell Aunt Alli and Uncle Rich what’s going on. I’ll go ring the bell. We can all work to get everyone safe, and get those able prepared to fight the zombies off.” Dream nods. He can feel the universe’s anxiety pulsing through him, and it makes him shaky. Marnie puts two steady hands on his shoulders, and it helps. “Sieges are scary, Dream, but we can deal with them, especially because you caught it so early. Come on, let’s get moving.”</p>
<p>Marnie and he leave, and Dream can feel the wind pushing him along as he breaks away from the woman to head to Allison and Richard’s house. He breaks into a run, and the cold air rips at his cheeks. He can hear the zombies without listening. It sounds like a lot.</p>
<p>He doesn’t bother knocking, just pushes the door open. “Allison! Richard! Wake up,” he calls, and he doesn’t think he keeps the panic out of his voice. Their baby starts crying, and Dream feels bad, but he knows it needs to be done, for the sake of everyone.</p>
<p>Groggily, the two wake up.</p>
<p>“Dream?” Richard manages as he pushes himself up and wipes the sleep from his eyes. “What’s goin’ on?”</p>
<p>“Dream? What’s Dream doing here?” Allison asks, her voice thick with sleep.</p>
<p>“It’s a siege. We’re under attack.”</p>
<p>That gets them up fast enough. They both pull on armor and grab weapons, Richard picking up their baby to give to Carmin, their neighbor, to keep safe while they fight. The bell rings in the center of town, and slowly, Dream’s seaside, pine village comes to life, lit by fire and starlight.</p>
<p>It’s a small enough town that they only have one senior protector, Allison. Dream is her only apprentice. Richard knows well enough how to swing a sword, as do a few others in the village. Those that can fight are gathered, and that’s when they see the first zombie.</p>
<p>There are so many zombies.</p>
<p>Marnie ushers the rest of the village away to somewhere they’ll hopefully be safe.</p>
<p>With the wind under his blade and the ocean in his ears, he swings at one of the zombies that pour into the town.</p>
<p>“What the fuck?” Richard yells over the groaning.</p>
<p>Something about this isn’t right.</p>
<p>Sieges are supposed to be ten, fifteen zombies.</p>
<p>Dream can’t see the end of this pack. It’s just a sea of green, rotting flesh in various states of decay. </p>
<p><i>Help, please, please,</i> he calls to the stars, sword connecting solidly with the head of one zombie. He pulls his sword away and swings again, and it falls.</p>
<p>When he looks to his right, he sees Chella, surrounded. Dream tries to fight his way over, but there are too many zombies to wade through. Every time his sword rips the life out of one, another takes its place.</p>
<p>Dream hears a shout of pain, and Chella falls to the hoard.</p>
<p>No matter how hard he fights, there are more.</p>
<p>Slowly, they’re backed closer and closer to the church where everyone is hidden.</p>
<p>They lose Kris.</p>
<p>It’s just Allison, Richard, Dream, and Cal now.</p>
<p>The pack of Zombies is thinning, but they’re tiring. Allison has a deep wound on her forearm, and Richard is limping.</p>
<p>Dream watches in horror as three zombies converge on Cal. His teacher, his friend.</p>
<p>“Cal!”</p>
<p>A zombie knocks into him and jars him back to his fight.</p>
<p>He hears a cry of pain nearby, and he knows it’s Richard.</p>
<p>His nerves harden.</p>
<p>They can do this.</p>
<p>The end is in sight.</p>
<p>He raises his weapon, and there are four zombies in front of him, pushing him back. They bat at him and claw at his skin.</p>
<p>It <i>burns</i> but he swings.</p>
<p>He swings, and he swings and he swings.</p>
<p>A howling shout of pain breaks the night, and Dream looks over and watches, pain catching his chest and strangling him, as a zombie rips a clawed hand into Cal’s chest.</p>
<p>Blood pours hot down his front.</p>
<p>He hears a scream, and it takes a moment to realize it’s him.</p>
<p>“No! No, no,” He cries, and a zombie wraps a hand around his wrist. He kicks at it, anger making the blow strong enough that it’s almost fatal. He swings his sword down, fast, hard enough that it decapitates one of the zombies he’s fighting.</p>
<p>He lands his sword in the flesh of the one he kicked, and it fades to dust.</p>
<p>There are three more in front of him, plus to two he was already fighting.</p>
<p>Tears blur his vision.</p>
<p>This isn’t supposed to happen.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” Richard bellows, voice laced with pain and anger. Dream can’t look, too busy dodging sharp nails and blunt, fatal teeth.</p>
<p>He lands a heavy hit on the monster in front of him, and he hears an anguished shout from Allison.</p>
<p>“Shit! Richie!” She cries, and Dream knows what happened without even looking.</p>
<p>He’s so, so cold.</p>
<p>“Please,” he begs, words a whisper in the icy night.</p>
<p>He needs a miracle.</p>
<p>He can’t save the village on his own.</p>
<p>
  <i>Please.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The remaining zombies split their attention between him and the church.</p>
<p>He kills six more before he hears the pounding on the doors.</p>
<p>Dream slams through the zombies attacking him and sprints towards the door. He’s almost there, can see the way the wood is cracking under the strain, and he swings his sword out. In the window, he catches sight of Marnie.</p>
<p>Marnie, the kind, brash farmer who took him in. Marnie, who raised him, who made sure he was fed and happy.</p>
<p>“Dream!” She shouts, panicked, and there’s something he’s missing in her tone.</p>
<p>The wind screams in his ears, shaking the trees around him, and the ocean rages nearby.</p>
<p>That’s when he hears the groan behind him, close, closer than it should be.</p>
<p>Sword raised, he tries to spin.</p>
<p>He’s not fast enough.</p>
<p>The last things Dream sees are the church doors shattering apart, and Marnie’s face going pale in the window.</p>
<p>Dream hopes she knows he loves her.</p>
<p>Everything goes white.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a weird tingling in his limbs, and it feels like he’s floating.</p>
<p>Everything is freezing.</p>
<p>It’s quiet.</p>
<p>Dream’s eyes feel like glue as he blinks them open, and the first thing he sees, directly above him, is Callisto.</p>
<p>The wind curls around him, pushing at him, asking him to get up.</p>
<p>All he can smell is blood and death.</p>
<p>Dream pushes himself up on shaky hands, and feels a shot of pain go through his shoulder.</p>
<p>“‘The hell?” He groans out, confused.</p>
<p>What’s going on?</p>
<p>Then he sees the ground, muddy and covered in dead bodies.</p>
<p>And Dream remembers.</p>
<p>Desperately, despite the pain it sends through his shoulder and neck, he snaps his head around, looking for something, anything一 a zombie about to kill him for good, someone from the village who cleared them out, anything.</p>
<p>He finds nothing except the bodies.</p>
<p>Allison is missing her throat.</p>
<p>It’s too dark to see the red. It all just looks as black as the void above.</p>
<p>Richard’s jaw is torn off, hanging limply, loosely from his head, cheeks ripped open, teeth glistening with blood in the moonlight.</p>
<p>Cal isn’t any better. Nor is Kris. Nor is Chella.</p>
<p>Dream vomits all over the ground, and the wind whips around him nervously. It’s the only thing stopping him from fainting, he thinks.</p>
<p>On shaky legs, he manages to stumble into the church.</p>
<p>And immediately, they fail. He crumples to the ground limply and he’s howling in pain.</p>
<p>Dead.</p>
<p>They’re all <i>dead.</i></p>
<p>Even little Michael, Allison and Richard’s son. Less than one year old. Dead.</p>
<p>He’s missing his eyes.</p>
<p>Jack, his best friend, lies motionless on the stone floor. Dream dry heaves. There’s no air in his lungs. He can’t feel his hands.</p>
<p>Dream can’t look at the gaping, oozing hole in his friend’s stomach for another second.</p>
<p>Unconsciously, his eyes search for Marnie’s signature green top, and he can’t find it.</p>
<p>At first, he feels relief.</p>
<p>Maybe she got out一</p>
<p>Maybe she’s still alive一</p>
<p>But then he sees it.</p>
<p>Missing an entire arm.</p>
<p>The typical green of her shirt is stained brown, and she’s limp, under a knocked over bookshelf.</p>
<p>Dream’s blood runs cold.</p>
<p>Everything shuts down.</p>
<p>He leans against the door frame and feels himself breathing, but there isn’t air in his lungs.</p>
<p>This is a dream, a nightmare, isn’t it?</p>
<p>He fell asleep on the roof, and the cold got to his head.</p>
<p>It’s just a bad dream.</p>
<p>He pinches his hand.</p>
<p>Wills himself to wake up.</p>
<p>Stands up and stumbles outside.</p>
<p>Looks at the sky.</p>
<p>It’s all normal in the stars.</p>
<p>A cloud floats in front of Callisto and one blocks part of Heracles.</p>
<p>The wind pushes him forward, towards his house near the edge of the village.</p>
<p>He stumbles over, only avoiding dips in the path and holes in the ground by the grace of the starlight.</p>
<p>The door creaks under his touch, and he climbs the stairs shakily, missing steps. He trips and lands hard on his knee a few steps up.</p>
<p>He feels disgusting, but he can’t bring himself to care, can hardly even register it.</p>
<p>With ice in his lungs and fire in his limbs, he falls onto his bed.</p>
<p>Dream falls asleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he wakes up, it’s to a storm.</p>
<p>Everything is sore.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t have the luxury of a moment of ignorance upon waking.</p>
<p>He recalls it all perfectly, every grueling moment.</p>
<p>Downstairs, Marnie’s room is empty, bed messed up from where she got up in a rush.</p>
<p>Outside, he can still see the bodies.</p>
<p>He spends the day sitting on the floor, staring at the wall.</p>
<p>
  <i>How is he alive?</i>
</p>
<p><i>Why</i> is he alive?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Every fiber of his being aches with the questions.</p>
<p>It’s at nightfall that the storm breaks. The clouds drift away, and Dream can see the stars.</p>
<p>They call gently down to him, and somehow, the fog clears.</p>
<p>He’s alive, despite it all, and that doesn’t change just because he’s not sure how he feels about it.</p>
<p>No, Dream is alive, and it’s for a purpose.</p>
<p>Dream has a job to do.</p>
<p>So, with shaking hands, he carefully gathers supplies, packs food, and cleans the gore from his sword. </p>
<p>Come sunrise, he’s leaving.</p>
<p>And as the sun crests the horizon, he sees Dream settling into a boat to sail south, towards the nearest village.</p>
<p>He’s cracking apart, a little numb to the world, but the wind is comforting at his back, and the ocean is gentle with him as he travels. The sun keeps him warm in the days, and the stars keep him company at night.</p>
<p>Slowly, surely, Dream learns what it means to be an adventurer, what it means to be alone, and he learns how to survive.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Somehow, Dream’s sword pierces the thick, hard spider shell, and he kills the venomous piece of shit.</p>
<p>Even still, the bite in his leg stings like Nether fire, and every step he takes to get out of the cave sends jarring pain up his frame.</p>
<p>The grey of the cave around him gives way to a shock of color and light, and it stings his head terribly. His axe is heavy at his hip, and his mask is settled solidly over his face. He’s glad he has it on, it helps block a little of the sunlight, even if the back presses uncomfortably against his sweaty forehead.</p>
<p>A shiver wracks his spine.</p>
<p>It’s already warming up from the winter, but his chill isn’t from the weather. Even with his sound mind compromised, he knows that he’s got a fever.</p>
<p>The spider’s venom is slowly oozing through his system, and the symptoms are settling in fast.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t have any milk on him.</p>
<p>He doesn’t have any at all, actually.</p>
<p>Is this how he dies? After everything?</p>
<p>Despite the way his leg is starting to go numb, he manages to get back to his camp. The giant mushrooms around him are interesting. He’s never seen them outside of a dark forest before. Here they are though, growing on weirdly grey grass, with equally weird, red cows. They have mushrooms on their backs.</p>
<p>His camp is set up under the curled top of a giant red mushroom. His fire is out, his pack untouched.</p>
<p>Dream makes it over, and he knows, somewhere distant in the back of his mind, that he should clean it, that he should deal with it.</p>
<p>But he can’t, not really.</p>
<p>So Dream just falls onto the soft ground and listens to the earth coo into his ear. It’s not happy with his decision to lie down.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” he mumbles, and his voice sounds stuffy in his hazing thoughts.</p>
<p>The wind spins anxiously around him.</p>
<p>He’s been traveling for three years now. Three entire years of learning, of searching, of fighting and surviving.</p>
<p>It’s a spider bite that does him in.</p>
<p>He laughs.</p>
<p>And laughs.</p>
<p>And laughs.</p>
<p>Until the world fades around him.</p>
<p><i>I’m sorry,</i> he calls to the stars, hidden away wherever they go to sleep, <i>I think I failed. But I tried,</i> he thinks at them, hopes they hear him, hopes that they maybe take pity on him, enough to not forget him once he’s fully gone. <i>I really did try. I guess you made a mistake, picking me.</i></p>
<p><i>Thank you for everything,</i> Dream projects to the stars, to the distant ocean, to the warm sun, to the anxious wind.</p>
<p>It fades to black, and Dream falls into a peaceful state of unconsciousness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The village is too loud, and George knows that he’s supposed to stick around when Anne leaves to trade in case someone needs a healer, but it’s just… so loud.</p>
<p>No one is going to need him if he leaves for just a half-hour.</p>
<p>He grabs a wicker basket and starts heading to the mushroom forest. It’s only a short walk away, and they’re running low on fly amanita anyways. If he goes out and gets more, he’ll be away from all of the noise and he’ll be using his time well. It’s a win-win, really.</p>
<p>The sun is warm, but there are clouds rolling in out of nowhere. It seems dim, almost, and the wind has picked up from this morning as well.</p>
<p>Still, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to storm, so he keeps walking.</p>
<p>The mushroom forest comes into view, and the grey mycelium is beautiful against the cloudy sky. George is beyond thankful that he’s gotten to live on such rare land, that he’s grown up with the mooshrooms and bats in the fields under the towering mushrooms. His village protects this land from people looking to take advantage of it, and it means they have an amazing relationship with the land there. It gives them mushrooms, and they help it thrive.</p>
<p>George crests a hill and looks out over the expanse of grey land. Distantly, at the edge of the biome, he can see the ocean, just as grey, always restless, always beautiful.</p>
<p>He starts making his way down the hill, and that’s when he sees him.</p>
<p>Lying under the base of a giant fly amanita, flat on the hard ground, is a figure clad in bright yellow. A mooshroom curls behind him, propping him up, and a few others lay on the ground  around him, which is odd because the mooshrooms are typically afraid of people they don’t know. A cluster of bats swirl overhead, and despite the fact that George knows they’re kind, the sight of so many is beyond ominous. Everything about him sets off George’s fight or flight response, but in part, it’s George’s job to protect this place. This mushroom forest is the closest thing he has to home, especially considering the way he feels about his village.</p>
<p>His village is just… too loud, too much.</p>
<p>So George goes out to the mushroom forest and spends time with the quiet flutter of bat wings at dawn and dusk, the soft mooing of the mooshrooms, and the rough, grey mycelium.</p>
<p>As he gets closer to the sleeping figure, a man with short blond hair and a mask on, he feels the wind pick up. There are knots in his stomach. This isn’t <i>normal.</i></p>
<p>All of the mooshrooms in sight are walking near, lying down to sleep around the man.</p>
<p>George doesn’t think this should be possible. What’s going on here?</p>
<p>That’s when he sees it, the tear in his pants, the dark ooze, the shallow bleeding. His forearms are covered in dirt, and there’s sweat on his jaw.</p>
<p>A spider bite, seemingly a few hours old, probably from the nearby mines a ways over the hill.</p>
<p>Any minute, it looks like the man could stop breathing.</p>
<p>George has never seen the mooshrooms around something that’s dying, but it would make sense that they’d let their mushrooms grow on that which is ready to decay, he guesses.</p>
<p>Despite the fear building empires under his skin at the ominous whorling of the wind and the swarming of bats and the creepy mask, George is still a healer. Despite the fact that he’s young, the fact that Anne still has so many years of service left, rendering his apprenticeship practically useless, he’s still a healer.</p>
<p>It’s his job to help those dying, to heal.</p>
<p>He drops to his knees next to the man, and the cow that he’s laying his head on lets out a doleful, mourning call. It doesn’t sound like they’re here to help him decompose.</p>
<p>The wind whips viciously at his back. Thunder crackles in the sky.</p>
<p>It wasn’t going to storm today. He <i>knows</i> this.</p>
<p>Quickly assessing the damage, he decides it’s safe to move him. It’s only a spider bite, nothing broken, nothing else wounded. George reaches up towards the mask. He needs to feel the other’s forehead for a fever, and he can’t do that while the man’s face is covered.</p>
<p>His hand touches the white surface and he thinks it’s porcelain. The edge is round, smooth under his fingertips. He follows the band to the back of his head and stops at a metal clasp.</p>
<p>Thunder cracks the sky overhead, lighting the world in harsh white light. George watches in slow motion as it strikes the earth nearby. He can’t process what happens because a hand, weak and clammy, wraps vice-tight around his wrist.</p>
<p>The man coughs, and in a shaking voice, says, “Don’t.”</p>
<p>Somehow, despite the wavering in his tone, the words are harsh in warning.</p>
<p>George snatches his hand back as soon as the grip loosens. “Shit, sorry, sorry, what in the End一”</p>
<p>The man is already gone, succumbed back to the pull of the poison, and George is left crouched over his limp form as the mooshrooms low sadly around him.</p>
<p>His skin stings with the wind, and rain starts biting into his arms.</p>
<p>What does he <i>do?</i></p>
<p>Milk.</p>
<p>He needs milk.</p>
<p>Carrying the man back wouldn’t work, it’d be too slow.</p>
<p>George is going to have to run, and he’s going to have to be <i>fast.</i></p>
<p>This man is knocking on death’s grand double doors, and they’re already opening.</p>
<p>He’s off like a shot, rain soaking his clothes and the wind at his back. He realizes he left the basket there but he can’t care.</p>
<p>The village comes into sight and he barrels into the healer’s shop. Anne isn’t back, and he thanks all that’s good for it. He doesn’t have time to explain himself.</p>
<p>Grabbing the milk bottles and some bandages and tossing it all into a small bag, he sprints back out. He knows he’s catching strange looks but he doesn’t care.</p>
<p>For all he knows, the stranger could already be dead.</p>
<p>George trips and stumbles down the hill, miraculously staying upright, and his muscles burn. The rain is coming down in sheets, chilling him through his skin and wetting the ground under him. Everything is slick with it. Despite the downpour, the bats are still out, swarming tighter, closer to the ground. The lowing of the cows has turned from mournful to urgent, like sobs born of fear. George doesn’t know why this stranger is important but the world is screaming at him that he is, and all he can do is push himself the last few steps to the man’s body and fall to his knees in the mud.</p>
<p>The man is still alive.</p>
<p>Barely.</p>
<p>Miraculously.</p>
<p>He’s breathing.</p>
<p>George lets out a sigh of relief and gets to work.</p>
<p>With hands shaking from the adrenaline, he pulls out the milk, unstopping it and placing a hand behind the masked man’s head, pulling him up slightly. George pours the liquid into his mouth and is thankful that he manages to swallow it rather than choke.</p>
<p>For a few moments, George is held in icy suspense as the rain pours down around him, the wind clawing at his clothes, the cows crying, the bats circling, but it’s all fallen away as he waits.</p>
<p>It feels like an eternity passes, and George finds the basket of soaked-through mushrooms discarded, somehow still upright, a few steps away. He stands up and picks them up, pushing them onto his arm.</p>
<p>Did he fail?</p>
<p>He thinks, maybe, he failed.</p>
<p>On shaky legs he stands there, lungs achilly pulling in unsteady breaths, barely managing to stay upright, and he just stares.</p>
<p>A man, clad in bright yellow with a porcelain mask, dying to the chorus of a world in mourning.</p>
<p>George wonders if he’ll ever be able to forget this.</p>
<p>The man was already dying. George did what he could.</p>
<p>He can’t help but feel the weight of the world dragging him down, forcing him to the ground as it slides across his shoulders. This failure feels heavy, like steel and coal, and the world is grey.</p>
<p>The stranger takes a breath, and lightning sparks across the sky.</p>
<p>The mooshrooms’ melancholic, haunting calls turn louder, deeper, and the bats overhead disperse outwards in an explosion of black.</p>
<p>He lets out a groan, and George stands in shock.</p>
<p>He’s alive.</p>
<p>The stranger is alive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a blackness swimming around him. It feels like ink is pouring simultaneously into and out of him, coating his vision in nothing.</p>
<p>Yet in it all, he can see Ophiuchus, the healer. <i>The stars are welcoming,</i> he thinks, joy breaking through the haze, and he hopes he sees Callisto, maybe Centaurus.</p>
<p>Breathing in the ink is hard, but Ophiuchus reaches for him, and somehow, it’s easier. It feels less like syrup filling his lungs and more like water.</p>
<p>The next breath is air, and it’s cold and wet.</p>
<p>He feels his eyes flutter, and it’s no longer dark, no longer Ophiuchus standing above him.</p>
<p>Rather, it’s a stranger, dripping with rain, holding a basket on one arm, haloed in the overwhelming grey light of a storm. Water soaks his own skin, and his mouth tastes stale.</p>
<p>Like poison, but also like…</p>
<p>Like milk.</p>
<p>This stranger saved him.</p>
<p>Letting himself go limp against the soft, warm form behind him, he sends up a cry of thanks, of relief, to the stars. He thinks Ophiuchus sent this stranger to him, and he can only feel gratitude filling the aching cavities of his beat up body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A moment of stunned silence passes, before George crouches down again next to the stranger. “Uhm,” he starts, at a loss. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>The man shifts and pushes himself shakily up. “I’ve been better. I’ve been worse too.” George sends the man a startled look. How do you get worse than dead-adjacent? “Uh, thanks, by the way,” he adds, bringing an unsteady hand up to rub at the back of his neck.</p>
<p>George takes a deep breath. What do you say to someone you just saved?</p>
<p>Anne would tell him to keep it business. Check for dangerous lingering symptoms. Assess for recovery.</p>
<p>So that’s exactly what he does.</p>
<p>“Is there pain anywhere other than your leg?” he asks, and his voice is just a bit unsteady.</p>
<p>Mask Man shakes his head no. “Surprisingly enough,” he mutters under his breath, but George still hears.</p>
<p>“That’s good. Yeah,” he says with a sigh, “That’s really good. How bad does the bite hurt?”</p>
<p>Dream shrugs. “Like I said, I’ve had worse一”</p>
<p>“I didn’t ask that, did I?” George asks, immediately pausing at the blunt edge of his words. Still, they’ve already been said and there’s no taking them back now. He needs to know how bad it hurts to know how best to help.</p>
<p>A moment of startled silence passes, a moment that sends anxiety crawling across his skin like ants, before the stranger smiles, something amused and bright despite the pain held in his jaw, and George can’t help but relax at the sight.</p>
<p>“If you need to know, it uh, it hurts a lot,” he says with that same grin, and George can’t understand what it makes him feel, just that he doesn’t like it one bit.</p>
<p>The rain is lighter, warmer, like a summer shower, and it’s nice, almost. Like a healing balm to wash away the panic. He’s already soaked to the bone anyways, so what’s a little more water?</p>
<p>“Well, I can help with that. I’m the local healer一 well, the healer’s apprentice. I’m fully trained though,” George replies, rambling a bit, and even as he tries, he can’t keep the bitterness from his voice. He takes a deep breath and sticks his hand out. “I’m George, I’ll help you back to the village.”</p>
<p>The stranger settles into himself. “Thank you but there’s no need一 I can handle this.”</p>
<p>Something about the way he says it makes George think that he can, but George doesn’t really want to risk it. “C’mon, either let me help,” he starts, shaking his extended hand gently, “or you’re walking and carrying all your stuff to the village on your own. Either way, you’re coming.”</p>
<p>Mask man laughs. The sound is bright, yet seems painful, and it makes a smile crack on George’s face. “Alright, alright, George,” he says, and despite the mask staring creepily back at him, he kind of likes the way his name sounds in the other’s warm voice.</p>
<p>George pulls him to his feet with a little effort, the other clearly trying to keep his weight off his hurt leg. George bends down and picks up his thankfully already packed bags while Mask Man leans against the mushroom. When he’s up, he slings the pack across his back before slipping his way under the stranger’s arm on his injured side.</p>
<p>The rain stops as they start making their way out of the grey field, and the blond finally speaks up.</p>
<p>“Seriously,” he starts, and his voice is soft in a way that has no right sounding so sincere. “Thank you, George, really.”</p>
<p>He almost sounds sad, and it takes the breath directly from George’s lungs.</p>
<p>Eventually, he settles on saying, “It’s what I do.” They take a few more steps in silence before he speaks up again. A ray of sun filters in through the grey cloud cover and illuminates the puddles and wet mycelium. “Can I ask your name?” he finally asks, curiosity getting the best of him.</p>
<p>The masked man turns to him with a smile that blooms like the careful sun highlighting the world around them. “Dream,” he says finally.</p>
<p>“My name is Dream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The village is larger than the one Dream grew up in, and he can really only stand George. Anne, the head healer, is far too bubbly. When she got back the first day, she admonished him for going into a cave. He’s gone into thousands of caves before, none with such a bad result. This time, he just got lost. He’s dealt with far worse. If he died to a spider bite, then he was meant to die to a spider bite. The stars will make sure that, when he meets his end, it will be the right time.</p>
<p>George, on the other hand, is snarky as all End. He’s sarcastic when Dream does or says something stupid, and quiet when there’s nothing more to be said. He smiles like it’s a secret, and he rolls his eyes like the world has done everything in its power simply to make his life miserable.</p>
<p>Dream really, really likes George.</p>
<p>When Anne changed his bandages, she was heavy handed, movement smooth but too fast, jarring.</p>
<p>When George changes his bandages, he’s careful, like the way he feels means something more than whether or not he’ll live in the end.</p>
<p>It’s his third day of staying here, and he can walk without help. He can leave, should he choose to. Sure, he’d need to do his own messy work on the bandages and it’d probably scar, but he’d live.</p>
<p>Something about this place, though, makes him want to stay for just a day longer.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s the way that George insists, resolutely not smiling, that Dream needs to stay for at least two more days before he can safely go.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s the way that George resolutely does not smile when Dream teases him for his height or the way his accent, the same accent his entire village holds, rolls off their tongue.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s the way that he laughs, light and hesitant, like it’s something he feels the need to hide.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s because Dream wants to teach the other that it’s okay to laugh like nothing matters, because so, so much does.</p>
<p>It’s his third day, Anne is out, and George wants to go back to the mushroom field to pick the red mushrooms with the white spots一 <i>“You know, I would’ve had all that I needed, but no, I had to go and find a dying adventurer and get soaked in the process,” George grumbles.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>“It’s not my fault the skies got worried that I was hurt! I can’t control their response to my distress,” Dream defends with a little grin.</i>
</p>
<p><i>George just looks at him like he has mushrooms growing from his ears, and it’s all Dream can do not to break into a full-blown smile</i>一 for a healing potion he wants to make for Dream to take with him. He invites Dream along, saying that it’ll be a good test to see how his recovery is going.</p>
<p>They walk out of the town and get a lot of weird looks. Dream is used to it. He’s had the mask for a little over a year, and every time anyone sees him, they won’t stop staring. No, they think just because he hides his face, he’s some evil criminal.</p>
<p>To be fair, he is a criminal. He’s probably stolen his weight in emeralds over the few years he’s been traveling, but it keeps him clothed, keeps him fed.</p>
<p>“Sorry about making people look at us, no one wants to look away from the masked freak,” Dream says with a grin he doesn’t feel.</p>
<p>George glances his way, a frown twisting his mouth down. Dream braces for the other to say something like, ‘oh, you’re not a freak, you’re perfectly normal,’ or ‘don’t be so mean to yourself Dream,’ but he doesn’t.</p>
<p>“They’re staring at me too. They always do.”</p>
<p>Dream’s false smile dims into something smaller, realer.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know George yet, but he thinks that sometime, he’d like to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The mooshrooms greet George like an old friend, and he really does feel like he’s closer to a herd of mushroom cows than he is to his entire village. When he sees a few approach Dream, snorting into his outstretched palm as hello, he thinks he should be jealous. They attached themselves to the blond so fast; George had to work for years to gain their trust.</p>
<p>He doesn’t feel jealous at all.</p>
<p>Instead, it makes him smile. The other, scarred in places, tall and scary with his creepy mask, looks almost cute as he gently pets the mooshrooms’ faces. Their soft moos are happy, like a call of greeting. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s really nice.</p>
<p>Instead of letting the feeling flower and blossom into something dangerous, George pushes a basket onto Dream.</p>
<p>“So what you do,” he begins, kneeling down to a patch of mushrooms on the ground, “is you find a patch, set your basket down, and put one hand at the bottom of the mushroom. You put your other hand on the stem like this,” he continues, showing Dream the way that his hand lays flat, thumb pointed up, “Then you just twist and pull,” George finishes, popping the mushroom out of the ground and dropping it into his basket.</p>
<p>When he looks up, the blue sky is silhouetting Dream, and he looks intimidatingly perfect despite the patchy stubble on his chin and the way he holds his left leg just a bit higher than the other, putting most of his weight on his uninjured right.</p>
<p>He grins, and even though George can only see Dream’s mouth, he thinks that the expression is fitting.</p>
<p>“That’s a pretty familiar motion, should be easy,” Dream drawls like the cat who got the cream.</p>
<p>George rolls his eyes, shooting the other a dead-pan look.</p>
<p>“Just shut up and pick some mushrooms,” George says with a sigh that’s worth ten thousand lifetimes and the rise and fall of a civilization. “Idiot,” he breathes, and he’s not sure why but he can’t help the fondness in his chest, the little bubble of amusement at the back of his head as he picks another mushroom.</p>
<p>All Dream does is laugh, and he squats down next to George, a little unsteady, before plopping into the grey mycelium, stretching his injured leg out to one side.</p>
<p>“So like this,” he asks once he finally calms down. His voice is still warm from the laughter, and it’s sweet like honey on his tongue.</p>
<p>“Not quite,” George replies. Dream’s right hand, the one grasping the stem, is pushing too much against the top. “It’s really minute, but if you have your hands like that, you’ll knock the cap off.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Dream says, and it’s softer, a bit confused.</p>
<p>“Move your wrist down a bit,” George says, trying to demonstrate.</p>
<p>Dream bites his cheek and tilts his head a little. It’s clear that he can’t tell the difference, and while it’s pretty cute, it makes George want to help him.</p>
<p>He reaches over to the other’s hands, covered in black fingerless gloves, and presses his wrist down so his forearm is parallel to the ground rather than raised. “Like this,” he says softly. “Then, when you pull it out of the ground, your hand won’t bump the cap.”</p>
<p>Dream twists the mushroom carefully and pulls up. It pops effortlessly out of the ground, all in one piece, leaving a little hole where it had been. “Like that?” he asks, and it’s unbearably earnest. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” George says, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth at the proud smile Dream wears. “Like that.”</p>
<p>Together, they pick the patch of mushrooms and move onto another, and another. Eventually they fill up their baskets but neither wants to go back to the village that looks at both of them like they’re a spectacle. It’s weird, but George feels comfortable around Dream unlike anyone he’s met in his village. Ever since Michael ran away, he’s been alone, left to deal with the fallout of their secret. George is used to it though, that was <i>years</i> ago.</p>
<p>It’s just nice, to have someone who doesn’t know to judge him, someone who he can joke with like they’ve been friends for years.</p>
<p>They crest the hill, the same one George first saw Dream on a few days ago, and George lets a huff of laughter out before beginning his trek down.</p>
<p>“Hey, that’s where I had my stuff,” Dream chimes, voice not at all perturbed at being reminded of his near death experience. It makes George think about the mask, and all the things he doesn’t know about the man next to him. A chill runs down his spine, but he brushes it off as just the gentle breeze keeping the air cool around them.</p>
<p>“Yeah, this is about where I first saw you, actually.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you were just swept off your feet,” he says with a grin.</p>
<p>George rolls his eyes. “Yes, the dead body in the middle of my field was too gorgeous. It made me fall down the hill.”</p>
<p>Dream laughs, and George is proud that he made him make such a happy noise.</p>
<p>“I really am just that pretty, huh?”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t actually tell you,” George says idly, picking his way down the path. “Your mask is kind of creepy though, and I’m not really sure why you chose to wear <i>yellow</i> everywhere.”</p>
<p>Dream stops in his tracks. “Yellow?” He asks, voice incredulous.</p>
<p>George furrows his eyebrows, confused. “Yeah, uh. Your coat. It’s yellow.”</p>
<p>The masked man opens his mouth and closes it a few times. “My coat isn’t yellow, George.”</p>
<p>“It’s not一 oh. <i>Oh</i>,” George feels his cheeks heat up.</p>
<p>It’s green.</p>
<p>“It’s green,” they say in unison.</p>
<p>For a moment, they’re silent.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” George mutters and turns back ahead, continuing on a bit too fast.</p>
<p>“No,” Dream says, amusement in his voice. “Nah I won’t shut up. Yellow? It’s clearly not yellow,” he chimes.</p>
<p>George huffs. Despite the embarrassment in his chest, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem like Dream is judging him, just joking around.</p>
<p>“I’m colourblind,” he explains, still not looking at the other. Instead, the crystalline blue sky against the proud grey of the mycelium and the browns and whites of the giant mushrooms fills his vision. It’s really pretty. Out here, every problem in his village falls away.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Dream replies, already back to his side. He’s swinging his basket of mushrooms back and forth as he walks, and George shakes his head.</p>
<p>They walk a bit in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. The path passes the mushroom Dream was laying at, and a bit further, George can see a charred patch of earth with a web of dead mycelium stretching out from it. That must’ve been where the lightning struck.</p>
<p>It makes George think for a minute. “What’s up with you and nature by the way? I think you getting injured literally started a storm. The bats swarmed around you and all of the mooshrooms in the area came and laid around you. It was really weird.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that,” he replies, running a hand across his neck. “Yeah, I talk to the gods a lot. They’re my friends, I think,” he explains nonchalantly, as if any of what he just said made sense.</p>
<p>“The gods?” George asks. Where he comes from, there’s one god, the god of all the lands, Notch. He’s not sure he believes it, not like some of the elders in the village, but he’s never heard anything else, surely not anything with multiple gods.</p>
<p>“Yeah, the earth, the ocean, the skies, the sun, the wind, the moon, and the stars. I can kind of talk to them. I can feel them, at least. I don’t think I’m supposed to die yet. The stars make sure I don’t, actually.”</p>
<p>The way he says the last piece sounds almost bitter, and George wonders what stories the bizarre man holds. George wonders if he can even be considered a man. For a moment, he sounds a bit like a lost boy.</p>
<p>“Oh,” George manages. “That must be… interesting.”</p>
<p>“It is. The wind actually likes you a lot. It won’t leave you alone,” Dream says with a laugh that sounds borderline shy, and for some reason it makes a blush rise on his cheeks as he laughs lightly at it.</p>
<p>It’s absurd, but George thinks that maybe absurd is something he wants more of in his life. Sure, Dream is a little weird, kind of intimidating, and maybe a little insane, but George feels more comfortable with him than anyone he’s ever known, even Michael, and he thinks that that makes it worth it.</p>
<p>They crest another hill, and just beyond is the coast. The wind brushes through his hair and he’s hyper aware of it. <i>It won’t leave you alone.</i> Maybe, for once in his life, he doesn’t want to be alone.</p>
<p>Instead of continuing, George just sits down, facing the dark blue ocean lapping gently at the small, white sand beach. After a moment, Dream joins him. The sun is lowering itself in the sky, and the air is growing cooler.</p>
<p>“What’s it like, traveling the world, living like you do?” George asks quietly.</p>
<p>He thinks about the glares that he can get at market, the upturned noses, the way some people will refuse to be treated by him, all because of something they learned years ago, something as miniscule as who he falls in love with. </p>
<p>“It’s kind of awesome, y’know, like I get to see so much. No one can tell me what to do, I don’t hold any responsibilities outside of what I want and need. I’m free,” Dream replies, looking ahead as the sun sinks lower in the sky, gently kissing the surface of the ocean goodnight.</p>
<p>George thinks about how, as a healer, he’s not needed. Anne is young, she’ll be around for a while longer. He’ll just grow old as her apprentice. The town doesn’t need him.</p>
<p>“It sounds nice.”</p>
<p>The only thing keeping him here are these fields, the rolling hills of mycelium and mushroom, melodies of wings flapping and the lowing of mooshrooms. He loves this place.</p>
<p>Dream looks at him, and the mask is still disconcerting, but George thinks he could get used to it. “It can be kind of lonely, though,” he says, looking back out to the ocean. The wind swoops around them, and it’s almost comforting.</p>
<p>George loves this place.</p>
<p>But he thinks that maybe he’s ready to say goodbye.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t have to be,” George says to the dirt path under them. He can feel Dream’s gaze landing back on him, heavy, calculating.</p>
<p>George can hear the bats as they start filling the air for an evening flight. A mooshroom passes close by, and George will miss them.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t,” Dream repeats with a huff of laughter, voice a little amused, a little baffled, a little awed. “I guess you’re right, George.”</p>
<p>He looks up and meets Dream’s gaze through the mask, a hesitant smile blooming on George’s face to match the grin building on Dream’s.</p>
<p>The sun sets, and they walk back in silence, baskets of mushrooms in their hands.</p>
<p>The next day, they leave at sunrise. In their hands they hold the future, and in their hearts, they hold a universe of possibilities, thousands of unrealized constellations, millions of stories not yet gathered, not yet told.</p>
<p>It’s a new day, and maybe George has to say goodbye to everything he’s ever known, but一</p>
<p>He’s also saying hello.</p>
<p>And it feels good, to not be so alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love you?<br/>But you're learning character lore!! Wahoo!!!<br/>As always, comments and kudos are super deeply appreciated!<br/>I'll see you all next week for another fun chapter :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Boy in the Nether</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i>Be done with this now and jump off the roof</i><br/>(Be done with this now and get off the roof)<br/>Can you hear me, Achilles? I’m talking to you</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HIIIII Sorry this is so late!!! The uhhhhhh, yeah the funky text (You'll know what I mean) took literally at least an hour to render per sentence. It would've taken even longer had my lovely beta and older sister <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepfriend/works">sheep</a> for giving me a hand during rendering. Anyways, uhhhhhhh, 13k words- we're approaching the end steadily and I'm screaming.<br/>This chapter's bonus lyric, from <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/6XZcvgHwb2EVuqsNrc7MVx?si=MLA87Qx-RXebtuS0cUE7Dw">Life, Death, and Everything Inbetween, by Stöj Snak</a>!<br/><i>How far could you fall without falling apart?<br/>How well would you walk on through the fire?<br/>How hard would you fight for things already lost?</i><br/>With that said, I worked rlly hard on this chap and it's one that y'all might be unknowingly looking forward to,,, hence the uh... the chapter titled ;]<br/>Comments and Kudos are really super appreciated!! Thanks to everyone leaving their kind words :] Hope you enjoy and don't experience too much pain!!!!</p>
<p>(CW for suicidal ideation near the end, just a line between <i>"He hates this.</i><br/>But it’s not his fault." and “Says you,” Dream says,"<br/>Rember loves, stay safe and be careful!!!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Long, long ago, during the time of the Old Societies, there was a terrible catastrophe. The void began to seep through the barrier of the stars and as it did, it condensed into something comprehensible to this plane: a great beast, a Dragon as black as a clouded midnight sky and as vicious as the wrath of the universe. The Void is a god of a different kind than those we know, yet it is not inherently evil. The part that condensed into the Dragon, however, became unstable, unbalanced; far too much power, far too much pride, packed too tightly into a space not made for it. The stars, in response, sent a piece of themselves down to Earth to destroy the Dragon and save the universe, yet Her power was too immense. With fire and death in her lungs, she wreaked havoc on all that was around Her, and they could not defeat her. They instead resorted to trapping Her in the End, returning Her to the Void from whence She came. Now, the Void holds Her tightly within itself, a danger to the world that It is unable to disperse and reclaim.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I’ve locked the Dragon away; we are safe from Her wrath for now. She is angry though, and will not rest, caged as She is. The Void is unstable, and was not meant for such a destructive power to be kept within its folds. As such, I believe that a day will come when the fabric of the Void will tear apart, and the Dragon will once again be free. Preceding this day, the gods will once again descend from the heavens, this time to choose a hero. They will face the End of all days, and the Void will judge them accordingly.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>一 Excerpt from the journal of an ancient hero.</i>
</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t recognize where he wakes up. Panic and fear thrum through him, yet the gentle rush of the wind at his side, the warm thrum of the sun above, and the soft, loving coo of the earth below comforts him. His mom always said that, should he trust in the gods, he’ll never be alone.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know the face looking at him. He’s a stranger, but, despite the wind’s jittery dance around him, the sun and earth seem encouraging. He can even feel the ocean, clearer than he normally can. They’re saying hi to him, and he’s missed them.</p>
<p>“What’s going on over there Chella? What’re you looking at?” An unfamiliar voice calls.</p>
<p>“Marnie? I think you’re gonna want to see this,” the stranger says, and Dream begins taking in his surroundings. There’s hay under him, and he thinks he’s in the back of his parents’ cart. If it’s his parents’ cart, where’re his mom and dad?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s scared.</p>
<p>Despite the earth and sea cooing to him softly, the wind is upset, and he’s scared.</p>
<p>Tears prick his eyes. He doesn’t like crying because Dad always said that heroes don’t cry, but he doesn’t like it here, without his mom and dad, and he’s scared. Unconsciously, he curls into himself, and the hay scratches at his skin.</p>
<p>Dream doesn't like that either and the tears finally escape his eyes.</p>
<p>They blur his vision to the point that he can’t really see the new face that appears above him.</p>
<p>Even through the cart, he can feel the earth sending a careful symphony of comforting feelings towards him and, distantly, he can feel the soft rocking of the ocean’s waves. The sun wraps him in its gentle rays and holds him tight, keeps him warm. The wind, jittering around him fretfully is a familiar presence. They keep him from breaking into uncontrollable sobs; they make him feel safe. He wants his mom and dad, but he has his world, and he wants the stars, but he knows that they don’t come out right now. They come out when the world is full of scary monsters to protect everyone from the scary void, but to be strong to protect everyone, they need to sleep during the day. Dream has to wait for the stars, but for now his friends that are around keep his breathing from shaking too much, keep him from getting too scared.</p>
<p>“My heavens, Chella, you run and go on with your morning. I’ll handle this,” the second stranger says before cooing to him, “It’s okay, dumpling, big breaths, it’s okay.” The words are soft spoken, and they remind him of the gentle way his mom used to speak to him when he was really little and cried all the time. Then crying became a no-no, and mom and dad started stopping him when he cried. The stranger sounds like Callisto does when he’s sad. It makes him a little less scared. “That’s it, bud. Breathe, just like that,” she says, and Dream starts blinking the tears out of his eyes. He can see familiar pine trees all around him, and they’re his friends too. He rubs his eye with a fist and looks around. There are small buildings on all sides of him, nothing like the Monastery. He’s never seen a building other than the Monastery outside of the books his mom read him. They’re so… so… weird.</p>
<p>He really likes them.</p>
<p>“What’s your name?” The woman asks, and she’s nothing like his mom. He really likes how bright her hair is.</p>
<p>With big, owlish, glassy eyes, he blinks up at her. “Dream,” he mumbles, always polite. The earth sends a soft flood of kind praise his way, and it makes him happy. He rocks back and forth idly, a pleased smile forming at the edges of his mouth. He likes it when the earth is proud of him.</p>
<p>“Dream, you said?” She asks, and her voice is soft, comforting.</p>
<p>He nods at her.</p>
<p>The woman sends him a pleased grin, and that makes him happy too. He likes it when other people smile, because that means that he’s doing good stuff, which means no one will be upset. He likes it when no one is upset. His mom and dad didn’t get upset much, but they always seemed sad when he did the thing wrong. They’d frown and shake their head and say, <i>“Dream, heroes don’t cry over a scratched knee,”</i> and, <i>“How are you meant to survive the End if this is how you act?”</i></p>
<p>Dream likes it when he does the right things.</p>
<p>“I’m Marnie,” she replies with a friendly smile. “Thank you for telling me. Do you know where you are?”</p>
<p>Dream shakes his head no, and he can’t help the jittery, jerky undertones in the movement. He doesn’t dislike it here, but he’s confused and scared.</p>
<p>It’ll be okay, because he has his friends, but he wants to know where his mom and dad are.</p>
<p>He wants to know where he is, and when he’ll get to go back to the grand libraries of the Monastery.</p>
<p>The woman nods. “You’re in Carabol, a little village north of the Tivien Sea. Do you know where that is?”</p>
<p>The Tivien sea is his friend! His mom and dad introduced him to the Tivien Sea when he was really little. The Monastery is north of the sea too. Dream nods his head. He knows, and that always makes people happy.</p>
<p>“That’s good! That’s good,” she replies, pleased. Her gaze shifts, landing on something next to him. “What’s this you’ve got here, Dream?” She reaches out and he involuntarily flinches. The wind wraps around him protectively, in the process flicking some of her already frizzy, red hair out of place and causing a piece of paper to flutter uselessly about next to him.</p>
<p>Something pained crosses her expression, but she doesn’t say anything, instead picking up what Dream has found to be a letter.</p>
<p>The woman opens it cautiously, and the wind flicks about, nerves mirroring Dream’s. A dark cloud floats through the sky overhead, but the earth and sun and ocean coo reassurances at them both, and it helps.</p>
<p>Marnie’s face blinks through a few stages of confusion, before shuttering into something upset.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t like it when people get upset.</p>
<p>The wind urges him to run, because clearly something is wrong, he’s done something wrong and he should <i>go</i>一</p>
<p>“It seems, Dream, that you’re going to be staying here with us for a while,” she says softly, and suddenly all her upset has morphed into sad but kind, and his friends like her, are telling him to trust her, so he stays put.</p>
<p>His friends never liked his parents much anyways.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream was five when he was dropped in the little village of Carabol. He knew by heart every story of the constellations, had a wealth of tales about the Old Societies and the prophecy of the Dragon. He could explain every detail of the site of Ancient Ruin, the place of the first Dragon attack, and he loved to write them all down once he learned that they weren’t already in the town’s small library.</p>
<p>That was a year ago. A year ago that Marnie read a letter declaring the small, lost boy the hero of the famous prophecy, the hero of the world, the star’s chosen one. A year ago that Marnie read the words, <i>’In two years time, abandon him somewhere new. He must learn to grow and adapt wherever he is forced to be.’</i> She’d nearly been sick, seeing how heartless the writer of the letter must have been, how heartless Dream’s parents must have been. It was a year ago that she helped him settle into the attic of her house, and promised to keep him safe. Over the years he’s been here, he’s opened up about the world that he likes to talk to, about his “friends”. He’s told Marnie about his closest friend, the wind, and about the earth who tells him bedtime stories, who he misses dearly during the winter months. He’s told her about the ocean that’s strong and safe and the sun that hugs him close when he feels lonely. Most of all, he’s told her about the stars, about each and every constellation in the sky. Dream knows every story like she knows that the sky is blue, and he loves to tell them. He’s spent hours telling her about the admirable Hercules and the caring Callisto and the healing Ophiucus, about how they keep him safe from everything dangerous and evil in the world, about how they love him, about how they sing to him in the night.</p>
<p>It only took a few days for the village to come to adore him, this strange little boy who only walks around barefoot when it’s warm and stays up at night to stare at the speckled night sky, who talks to the wind and gets nervous when someone gets loud. He stays with Marnie, but the rest of the village is his family too, and she thinks that he likes it here.</p>
<p>She hopes he does, because it's been a year, and she really likes having him here. Maybe not by blood, but he’s her kid now, and she’ll do whatever she can to make sure he’s happy, to make sure he’s safe, to make sure he lives a full, content life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>To the residents of Carabol,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>We must ask a favor of you. This is Dream, our child. He is born of the stars and of humanity, a gift from the gods to earth. Slowly, the Dragon’s great return marches ever closer, but Dream has been sent to face the End. We’ve been training him, but he must learn to overcome any trial. Leaving him with you is something we needed to do. In two years time, abandon him somewhere new. He must learn to grow and adapt wherever he is forced to be. Do not treat him like a child, for he is far more. He is divine, and he must realize that sooner rather than later.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream doesn’t call Marnie mom, but he does call her brother Richard Uncle, and it’s something he’s all too proud of. Allison loves the blacksmith, thinks that she wants to marry him, but the fact that the burly man is so soft on the little boy is just too funny. Sweet, of course, but also just hilarious.</p>
<p>When Allison first met the boy, later the first day he showed up, she thought he was a little strange. He had a handful of vivid imaginary friends, and knew so much information that a little kid just wouldn’t be able to learn normally. One day, a little over a year after he showed up, she found him napping in the grass, just outside the village. A ray of sun was breaking through the leaves, making the small space warmer than everywhere else, and even stranger was that a small bed of wildflowers had grown around him.</p>
<p>She woke him up after a moment of awe so they could go back for dinner, and when he sat up groggily, in all his six year old glory, his hair was full of petals. As they walked back into the village, she couldn’t help but notice the bright blue of cornflower ringing his head, like maybe a crown, or a halo.</p>
<p>When Marnie told her about the letter, let her read it, she didn’t really believe any of it. Allison thought the boy’s parents were insane. Sure, the old tale of the Dragon was probably in some light true, but it wasn’t coming back… of course it wasn’t. So the claim that this boy would save the world, is connected with some ancient, long forgotten gods, was so bizzare to her. About two years into the boy's stay, Marnie asks her and Richard to talk about what to do with the boy. At first, Allison is terrified that Marnie is actually considering following the letter’s instructions to abandon the boy.</p>
<p>“I know at first, none of us believed that he was a savior, but the kid’s a walking encyclopedia of knowledge on the natural world. He’s not remembered a single story about the stars differently. There’s always a gentle breeze around him, and when he’s scared it picks up. The world reacts to him,” Marnie says as they sit around the round table in her kitchen. Dream is with Jack and his mom, Daphne, so they can talk uninterrupted. “After everything I’ve seen, the boy is either delusional beyond belief, and delusion is contagious, or it’s all real.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Richard hums his agreement, but Allison can’t. Not if, should Marnie believe the letter, believe all of the stories, it means that she’ll abandon the boy again, like the letter claims they should. Allison doesn’t think it’s fair to him, doesn’t think it’s sane. Sure, she thinks that what Marnie says has merit. The boy is an enigma, seems like exactly what they say he is, but she’s not going to let them dump him somewhere new just in some misguided attempt to prepare him.</p>
<p>“Marnie一” she starts, ready to fight tooth and nail to keep him safe. As the village protector, that’s her job.</p>
<p>“Get that pinched look off of your face, you fool. I’m not going to abandon him anywhere. He’s one of our own and there’s no way in hell we’ll let that go. I was going to ask if we should start… training him,” Marnie says with a frown, and Allison feels relief rush through her. She may not be a full believer in all the stories the little boy tells, she may not think that the world is on another fast track to doomsday, but she can understand that the boy is just a bit more than just human. Allison can see that he’s a part of the gods, that the gods are a part of him.</p>
<p>“I’ll train him to fight. It’s the least I can do for him,” Allison settles on.</p>
<p>Richard raises his mug in a cheers, “For the boy who brought the stars back to us,” he says gruffly, and Marnie raises her glass.</p>
<p>A second later, Allison follows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>Dream is a sweet boy, but his will must be strengthened. He will walk the world and face countless terrible things, and he will need to be ready for them. He will place the stars in the sky as gods for many, but he must be prepared for the hatred that will garner. A prophet is never loved by all. Dream will be no different.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack is six, and Dream is the coolest person he knows. For one, Dream’s eight, nearly a teenager, and he’s so mature! He looks at the world like it’s a puzzle made for him, and Jack can only hope that someday he’ll be as good at solving it as Dream is.</p>
<p>The older is in front of him with a stick in hand, like a makeshift sword, pointing it at the rabbit sitting passively in front of him.</p>
<p>“Halt, creature of the night! I, Dream of Carabol, will end you with the power of Heracles and my sword!” The bunny turns and hops away, and Jack grins.</p>
<p>“Ha! You showed him!” Jack chirps, and Dream turns to him with a bright, toothy smile.</p>
<p>Then he blinks his eyes, and they go unfocused in the way they do when he’s listening to the world talk to him. He bites his cheek and pinches his eyebrows. “‘M sorry.” A moment passes. “Mhm.” Another. “The earth wants me to tell you too that we shouldn’t be mean to the bunnies. They’re not evil. Let’s go say sorry,” he says, and Jack nods.</p>
<p>
  <i>So cool.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack is twelve when Dream gets officially taken on as Allison’s apprentice. He wishes that he could be the protector's apprentice too, just like Dream, but Allison only needs one apprentice. No, he’s been learning how to run the farm his whole life, and that’s what he’s going to end up doing. He doesn’t want to run a boring farm though. No, he has far grander plans.</p>
<p>“How was your lesson? What’d you do?” Jack asks, bouncing after Dream.</p>
<p>“Same thing as yesterday. We worked on forms. She taught them to me yesterday, I understand them. I don’t know why she made me go through them all again today.”</p>
<p>“Can you show me? I know you were tired yesterday, but一” Jack starts, bubbling.</p>
<p>Lightly, Dream replies, “Yeah, I guess I can.” Jack cheers. He hears Dream mumble under his breath, but he does that all the time when he talks to the earth. Jack doesn’t mind being left out of the conversations. He’s used to it at this point.</p>
<p>No, Jack doesn’t want to stick around and plant potatoes all year. Jack wants, completely, to leave with Dream and help him as he travels the world. Dream says he doesn’t think he’s going to leave any time soon, says that the time will “make itself clear”, like that makes any sense. Jack doesn’t care. When they’re both adults, Jack is going to drag Dream out of the town by his ear if he needs to. Jack is going to get out of here and see the world with Dream, and he’s going to help Dream.</p>
<p>“It’s good that you’re teaching me this! So I can help you,” Jack chimes as they get set up in the small clearing outside of the village.</p>
<p>Dream pauses. “Jack,” He starts, and his tone is a warning. The wind flicks around them, rustling the branches of the trees. “You’re not going to try something stupid if I teach you this, right? We’ve talked about this.”</p>
<p>Jack huffs. “I’m coming with you when you leave.”</p>
<p>The wind rushes through his hair, leaving it a mess and rumpling his clothes. “<i>If</i> I leave, you are staying here, where it’s safe. You aren’t coming with me.”</p>
<p>He crosses his arms. “You don’t get to just leave me here, Dream!” Jack yells, and he knows he’s throwing a fit, but he refuses to be stuck in this town for the rest of his life. He’s not going to be anything here. Just a farmer, living out boring day after boring day.</p>
<p>“Jack一”</p>
<p>“Don’t you ‘Jack’ me. I’m coming with you,” Jack growls. He refuses to be stuck here. Dream can’t do that to him一</p>
<p>“You’ll die, Jack,” Dream spits, and the wind kicks up into a rough gale, causing the tree branches to beat against each other. “Even I might die,” he continues and Jack freezes.</p>
<p>“No, nuh uh. You’re gonna- gonna一”</p>
<p>“That’s enough, Jack,” he cuts him off, voice low. “We all know that if I leave, it’s suicide. I’m not damning you either.”</p>
<p>Jack stands there, frozen.</p>
<p>Dream’s not going to die, not actually.</p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>He pushes the thought out. Of course not. Dream’s too good for that. He takes a steadying breath, and it’s okay.</p>
<p>Jack’ll just have to make sure they don’t die. Easy.</p>
<p>Problem solved.</p>
<p>
  <i>Take care of him well, but know that his mission is one that will doom him. Do not grow attached. The Void will judge him for his actions, and the Void is rarely kind. Take him in, please, but know that you will lose too, just as we have.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It is for the sake of the world. By the power and grace of the stars, may you find the strength to be selfless as well.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Best of wishes,<br/>The Emissaries of the Stars.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a few months before the frost, and Dream, proudly almost fifteen, is deep within a cave nearby the village. He’s not supposed to be in here, but his stone sword can get through most mobs, and with the rumble of the earth, even tired as she is, protecting him from all sides, he doesn’t have to worry. He needed some way to get away from Jack, who tails him constantly, and this was his best bet.</p>
<p>So here he is, not lost, but very far in, standing in front of a desperately hot, bubbling pocket of lava seeping from the wall with no knowledge on how to get through to the other side. He could maybe lay down some dirt and gravel, to block it off? He’s not entirely sure how effective it’d be though, not with the constant flow likely to push it all out of the way before he can stabilize it.</p>
<p>A wave of warning rushes through the stone under his feet, and he turns just in time to see a spider approaching.</p>
<p>He’s trapped, not that it really makes much difference to him. One spider doesn’t scare him.</p>
<p>The spider stops though and hisses, sitting there, staring.</p>
<p>Dream’s always felt it when he fights hostile mobs, but never listens to it, it being the dull, bone deep vibration of the void. Just like the Dragon, the hostile mobs are little pieces of the Void that seep through the stars. They concentrate into something perceivable, and that concentration of distinct nothing becomes something evil. He doesn’t think that, on its own, the Void itself is evil.</p>
<p>He doesn’t even know if he thinks the hostile mobs on their own are evil.</p>
<p>The thrum is stronger, like the Void wants to speak with him.</p>
<p>The earth sings her warnings, but Dream can already hear the spiders on the cave ceiling behind him.</p>
<p>They hiss at him, urging him to just open himself to it.</p>
<p>A reanimated skeleton clacks about somewhere ahead. A zombie groans.</p>
<p>Dream takes a deep breath and lets his guard down. The noises coalesce into hissed, rumbling, scratching, scathing words that vibrate through Dream’s chest like the very world is ending. Like this, he can hear the worried wailing of the earth in monumental, powerful, thudding drum beats, can hear the distant, warped screeching of the sun. The ocean hits him in a dark, endless chaos of dissonant tones, scraping across one another and the inside of his head, splitting an instant headache. Probably worst, after the Void itself, are the stars. Every single one is speaking in dripping black tar and spoiled milk, the words ice on his neck and nails along his skin.</p>
<p>He pushes it all away to listen to the Void, the worst of them all.</p>
<p>The sound is vomit pushing its way up his throat, and the cracking of bones. It’s everything all at once, yet so low and simultaneously high at the same time that it’s nothing at all. The complete absence that is everything. Dream consciously separates his teeth where they’re grinding together, and the pain of the noise snakes its way from his jaw throughout his face and neck. It feels like every inch of his skin is slowly being filled with pins. His mouth tastes like blood.</p>
<p>For a moment, he thinks he’s dying.</p>
<p><i><b>“I<span class="big">t’</span></b><span class="big">s</span> <s>t<sub>i</sub></s></i><b>m</b>e. <span class="small">Y<b>o</b></span><b><s>u <sub>s</sub>h<sub>o<b>u</b></sub></s><b><i>ld <sup>g</sup><span class="big">o</span>.”</i></b></b></p>
<p>He’s definitely dying.</p>
<p>The words crawl across his body like the spiders speaking to him, and he very nearly begins tearing at his skin.</p>
<p><b><span class="u">“T<i></i></span><i><sub>h</sub><sup>e<span class="big"> <s>t</s></span></sup></i><span class="big"><s>i</s></span></b><span class="big"><s>m</s></span><s>e</s> <b><i>ha</i><sup>s</sup> <i>c<span class="u">o<span class="big"></span></span><span class="big"><sub>m</sub><span class="u"></span></span></i><span class="big"><span class="u">e</span>, S</span><sup>ta</sup></b>r. <i>T<b>h</b></i><b><sup>e</sup> <span class="big"><s>D</s></span></b><span class="big"><s>ra</s><i><sup>g<b>o</b></sup><b>n</b></i></span><i> a</i>w<span class="small"><sub><b>a<span class="u">i</span>t</b></sub><b><span class="u">s</span></b></span><b><span class="u">. T</span></b><span class="u">h</span><i>at w</i>h<b>ic<span class="u"><sub>h </sub><sup>h</sup></span><i>a<sub><span class="u">s b</span></sub><span class="u">e</span></i></b><i>gun i<span class="big">s</span> <s>c<b>o</b></s></i><b>m<span class="u">ing t</span>o a<i>n <sup>en</sup></i><s>d.</s>”</b></p>
<p>Desperately, Dream tries to close the pathway, to bring his walls back up. His world is spinning though and he can’t see anything but the haze of the lava sending orange sparks across the ground.</p>
<p>He vomits, and then the ground is under him.</p>
<p>Then comes quiet.</p>
<p>Blessed, perfect quiet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wakes up on the cold dirt, staring up at the darkening, red sky. The back of his clothes are soaked through; everything around him is wet, like a storm hit while he was in the caves. He breathes the fresh, unstuffed air, and basks in the blissful silence.</p>
<p>Dream’s walls are up so high that he can barely hear the wind desperately asking if he’s okay. He tries to lower them slightly, but he’s far too worried to let them drop too far, that they’ll slip past the point of vague outlines of ideas and feelings to bleeding, screeching, wailing, grating <i>words</i>. He feels dry blood crusted over his upper lip.</p>
<p>He pushes the exchange out of the way. Thinking about it feels like stabbing a sword through his head, cracking through bone before sliding easily, smoothly, terribly through his brain, then shattering out the other side.</p>
<p>Dream isn’t leaving, he’s decided. His village needs him.</p>
<p>It can’t be time.</p>
<p>Not yet.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>George’s mouth is dry.</p>
<p>Everything around him is black and brown, just like it’s been for months.</p>
<p>
  <i>Months.</i>
</p>
<p>They’ve been stuck here for months.</p>
<p>Or...</p>
<p>That’s what they assume.</p>
<p>There’s no way to tell. No sun, no moon, no stars.</p>
<p>George can tell that, despite not being quite as dependent on the world as he used to be, Dream is suffering. He looks like a wilted flower without enough water or light.</p>
<p>Or maybe it’s just the actual lack of water and light.</p>
<p>Their packs are full of resources from the Nether fortress, heavy because of it. They don’t have much food or water left though, and running out means they die in here, lost within the twist of veins on the pumping heart of reality. The walls bleed slowly around them. Lava pulses, hot and miserable, from pockets in the ceiling, oozing down from the sky like deadly rain.</p>
<p>George hates it here. He just wants to hear Dream laugh, to see him smile. He wants to bathe in a river and hold hands and kiss without the taste of ash and sulfur and decay on their lips.</p>
<p>But he hasn’t even heard Dream’s voice in what he can only guess has been a week, because they’ve not been speaking. Talking scratches their dry, abused throats up far too much. They just walk, side by side, Dream limping, George weak, weapons pulled nonetheless, as the walls drip their blood, as the world beats rhythmically around them.</p>
<p>Everything is hazy.</p>
<p>George barely notices when Dream stops, but the other’s perfect, calloused, far too warm hand lands on his wrist, and he pauses.</p>
<p>Dream makes a pathetic noise and it sounds like George’s name, but it’s so battered and bruised that it’s unrecognizable. It sends the blond into a coughing fit, but when he finally stops he points at something.</p>
<p>It’s a fallen tree, charred along its edges, horrendously bright blue against their dull surroundings. George looks up the cliff face to see the violently bright hue of the blue biome up the cliff face, above them.</p>
<p>They passed this tree, far less charred, far more recently felled, what George assumes was a few days into their time in the Nether.</p>
<p>It’s just a fallen tree, but in a world where everything一 <i>everything</i>一 looks the same, it’s a landmark, it’s color, it’s a sign.</p>
<p>It means they’re close to getting out.</p>
<p>It’s just a fallen tree, but at the same time, it’s hope incarnate.</p>
<p>With muscles tired from disuse, George smiles at Dream. Everything hurts, aches like his lungs are caving in, like his heart is being wrapped in constricting crimson vines and slowly being squeezed until it tears, bloody and raw. He feels like he’s been covered in layer upon layer of cracking clay, the sweat sticking ash to his skin and turning his body to heavy ceramics. All George wants is for his skin to slough off, in burnt dry sheets of dirt and despair.</p>
<p>Despite it all, George smiles.</p>
<p>And Dream, mask pushed off of his face, in his pouch somewhere, smiles back, eyes a beacon of light in the hell they’ve been trapped in for so, so long.</p>
<p>Surrounded by bleeding stone and eternal fire, their lips meet. It’s sulfur and dirt and dehydration, terribly chapped, painfully so, but it’s still soft. They have hope.</p>
<p>They’re getting out, together, not for themselves, but for the other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s later一 a few hours or days he doesn’t know, doesn’t care一 when he hears it, the shuffling, huffing of labored breath <br/>in soft, whimpering pain and tar-thick fear, sobs that have shed all their tears but left everything just as terrible as when it started.</p>
<p>George is a warrior, a protector against the creatures of the Void, but he’s still a healer and he’ll always be a healer. He could hear the cry of the injured a mile away.</p>
<p>He wraps a hand, too hot, too stiff, around Dream’s wrist, pulling him towards the noise. George can tell the exact moment Dream hears it too, because it’s no longer George pulling Dream forward at an insistent walk but Dream dragging George along at an overly taxing trot. He’s <i>tired</i>, tired beyond belief, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he can hear soft sniffles, not when someone could be dying.</p>
<p>The sound grows louder as they approach a cliff face. It drops down, down down down, into the unforgiving, unending oceans of lava. Heat rises and claws at George’s face, stinging his already dry eyes and making the heat burns on his cheeks ache.</p>
<p>
  <i>Where? Where is the noise coming from?</i>
</p>
<p>Dream coughs, and then shakily, roughly, with a voice wrecked from disuse and dehydration, says, “There.” He points to the edge a few paces away, where the stone crumples off sooner than the rest, and George can see what could be a path down into the cliff face.</p>
<p>It’s his first word properly spoken in far too long but George doesn’t linger on it. Instead he’s matching Dream’s pace to get to the spot. The noises have gone silent, but George can still hear the gentle, hushed whistling of breath.</p>
<p>He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except a pitiful croak, and it feels like all of his sins are climbing their way out of the prison of his chest through his throat, claws digging deep and ripping the sides open, blood pouring out, choking him. He gags for it, hating the way it burns, and he can feel every single curl of the wretched sound against the inside of his skin as it emerges.</p>
<p>George clears his throat, and he thinks that, maybe, he might know what it feels like to be killed with a rusty blade across his neck. “Hello,” he calls, and it’s weak, and it <i>hurts</i>, it hurts like nothing he’s ever felt before, but if it can ease someone else’s suffering for just a minute, then it’ll be worth it. “We’re- we’re here t一” he breaks off, coughing, “To help.” The sentence is broken and he doesn’t recognize his own voice, can’t place the lilt of his own accent or the timbre of his words. His tone is burnt to ashes, wispy and paper thin, rust sharp edges and crumbling dust.</p>
<p>A second passes before he hears a timid voice, shaking but not nearly as broken, still scratchy and fucked up beyond belief but seemingly far less painful. “H-hello?”</p>
<p>It’s soft, high pitched and <i>afraid</i>, and George’s blood runs cold, ice burning against the fire that’s his body, because it’s a kid.</p>
<p>A fucking child.</p>
<p>“We can help,” Dream manages, and George can hear the strain in every bit of forced air, can hear how quickly his voice is already dying, but some things need to be done.</p>
<p>A kid, stuck in this hell.</p>
<p>Ender’s gods damned eye.</p>
<p>“‘M一” a cough breaks the words, rough, terrible in all of it’s tearing, “M’ sc-scared.”</p>
<p>George feels his heart shatter and his resolve harden; if he’s lava, here, stuck in this burning hell, then those words were water. “It’s o-okay. We’re gonna- ‘elp.”</p>
<p>Dream helps him over to the edge, and there’s for sure a path down, narrow and steeply dropping off into the bubbling, terrible lava below. It’s large enough that a child would be able to manage, but thin enough that anyone else would struggle with it. Not to mention, the porous stone of the Nether is brittle一 too much weight on the edge and it’ll crumble away under their feet, dropping them into the lava below.</p>
<p>But they can’t just leave the kid.</p>
<p>Never.</p>
<p>Dream moves to go, but George grabs his wrist. <i>No,</i> he hopes he conveys, <i>I’m smaller, I’m more equipped,</i> he hopes he says.</p>
<p>He prays that Dream can’t hear him saying, <i>I’m more expendable,</i> but the other has always known him well.</p>
<p>Either way, Dream lets him go.</p>
<p>Everything is hot. Terrible, hot air billows up from one side, scorching his bare fingers. Ever present, stagnant, insistent heat emanates from the rocks he presses against to stay on the ledge.</p>
<p>For a moment, everything that’s dear to George is held in his head, like you could take a record of the still of his mind and simply know him.</p>
<p>He thinks about his sword, the way it feels in his palm like an extension of himself, and he thinks about his mortar and pestle, the smooth, cool stone in his hand. He thinks about the stars that are so dear to Dream, such a deep part of the other, that they’re indispensable to him now. He thinks about grass and the way that, when he’s laying on it, if he really focuses, he can feel it grow. He thinks about Dream’s mask which is a sight so familiar to him that even a simple glance at it sets him at ease.</p>
<p>He thinks about his old village, with its grey mycelium and tall mushrooms, its mooshrooms and bats, the cloudy skies.</p>
<p>Of course, he thinks of Dream.</p>
<p>He keeps going.</p>
<p>The ledge opens up just a bit of the way down, curving so he can no longer see Dream. He can, however, see the child.</p>
<p>A boy no older than seven or eight stares at him, covered in soot and dirt, dark splotches that look terribly like blood.</p>
<p>“Hi,” he says, crouching down once he’s stably within the entrance to what he realizes is a small Nether cave. He makes sure that his voice is loud enough for Dream to hear, even if it hurts more. He wants Dream to know that he’s okay, while also letting him know that they were right一 there’s an injured boy down here. “Can you- can you t-tell me your一” The words catch in his throat and he chokes on them, coughing into his grime covered arm, breathing in thick, sulfur and ash air. “Your name?” He finishes weakly.</p>
<p>The boy opens his mouth to respond, but Dream’s voice, scratchy and desperate and afraid, calls, “George? I’m coming down there!”</p>
<p>But no, it’s useless. That would mean there are two more opportunities for someone to fall into the deadly ocean of lava. “Don’t!” he shouts, and it rips out of his throat like an arrow tearing clean through his neck. After a moment of coughing that he cuts off quickly, he continues. “I’ve got this, wait一 wait up there. H- ‘elp us, o-out, when- when we’re re-.” <i>cough</i> “ready.”</p>
<p>George can picture the way he looks, ready to come down, desperate to be right here by George’s side, but he knows that it’s better for him to stay up there. George manages a weak smile at the thought.</p>
<p>Dream, always the protector. Always there for him… always.</p>
<p>“What一” he clears his throat and there’s fire sprouting from his lungs, licking up into the back of his mouth, but he pushes through with as steady of a voice as he can, “What’s your name?” And despite the pain, despite the burns searing him inside and out, he’s proud of how steady it is.</p>
<p>“M-m-mallory,” the boy croaks, and he’s fear and fire, burning and burnt. George promises himself一 surrounded in hot stone, terrible creatures, and consuming, suffocating, ash-dusted air, clawing his way through hell and back with the fate of a world in his pack and a breathing, bleeding, <i>blood-soaked</i> piece of the universe at his side一 he promises himself一</p>
<p>They will get this boy out alive.</p>
<p>There simply is no other option.</p>
<p>“Hi, Mallory,” George manages, assessing the child, “I’m George, and m-my friend Dream and一”</p>
<p>The sound that rips its way out his throat can’t be real. It’s a wretched thing, writhing and shredded, bleeding black ichor and oozing tar, and it feels like it tore a piece of his throat up on the way out. He can taste the copper, burning his mouth like acid, can feel the fleshy bits in his throat, and it’s excruciating. It’s lava dripping and rolling across his tongue like hell’s welcome home kiss.</p>
<p>There’s a whistle to the sound, like screaming agony and the wind of a summer storm that he can barely remember.</p>
<p>The noise growls out of his throat like a cough and a sob一</p>
<p>
  <i>It hurts, so damn bad.</i>
</p>
<p>“We’ll g-get,” another cough, “you out,” he grinds out, because some things are bigger than yourself.</p>
<p>Dream and George? They might know that better than every single person on the planet.</p>
<p>In his pack he has two bottles of water left. He knows Dream has one.</p>
<p>That’s all they have left.</p>
<p>Nonetheless, George pulls one out and hands it to the boy, who hesitantly, shaking and desperate, grabs it.</p>
<p>“Slow,” George tries to say, but it’s barely a whisper of a breath and a croak.</p>
<p>Somehow, the boy understands, and restrains himself with the help of one of George’s shaking  hands on his wrist.</p>
<p>Mallory has an arrow in his side, and the blood has stopped flowing. It’s at least a few days old. The blood is baked into his torn up clothes.</p>
<p>Minor, painful-looking burns litter his skin, and his dark hair is matted with dirt and either sweat or blood一 George can’t tell.</p>
<p>With George’s careful guidance, he drinks a few hearty mouthfuls of the water before George takes it away. Mallory whines, coughing a bit.</p>
<p>“Hurts,” the boy manages, and George would give him the world to fix his suffering.</p>
<p>
  <i>They’re gonna get him out of this.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream hates it. When he hears George’s voice shatter, rip itself apart like the tearing of thick fabric and the sucking of boots pulling out of thick mud, like a scream of agony and an arrow launching violently from an overly-taut bow, he nearly breaks.</p>
<p>He doesn’t. He knows where he’s most useful.</p>
<p>He still hates it, viscerally, terribly.</p>
<p>“Dream,” George croaks, and Dream fucking despises it because George’s voice is supposed to be warm, not always smooth but soft in its bright expression and proud in its quietness.</p>
<p>Dream wants George to be okay. They need to get out of here.</p>
<p>But this is more important.</p>
<p>They won’t die in here, not this close, they’ll get out.</p>
<p>They’re going to make it out, and so will this child.</p>
<p>On the fucking stars, he’ll make sure of it.</p>
<p>He goes to the edge to see George peeking his head out. The older nods his head at Dream, and Dream nods back. He’s here, ready. He’ll pull them out. He’s <i>here.</i></p>
<p>A moment later, George reemerges with a kid balanced precariously against his side, covered in grime and blood. He’s thin. He looks moments away from snapping into a million pieces, each smaller than the last.</p>
<p>Immediately, Dream knows what George needs him to do.</p>
<p>And he hates it.</p>
<p>
  <i>Dream is the safety net.</i>
</p>
<p>He lays down, flat on his stomach so that his shoulders and head hang over the edge. In theory, George could hand the boy up, but he looks injured. The jostling could reopen a wound, could, in this state, be fatal. No, he reaches down and hovers his hands over George. He’s barely able to reach, and the heat of the lava below dries his eyes, the glow burning his retinas, but he stays there, hands outstretched.</p>
<p>George takes his first step, back pressed to the stone, facing out to the horrible, ocean of death ahead. It waits for them, arms open, beckoning them home.</p>
<p>Dream can almost hear the thrum of Void, but he doesn’t think it’s the same god. Whatever gods reside here, he thinks he’d prefer the Void over them.</p>
<p>At least the Void is a known beast. He can’t imagine what roiling, seething, hiss and spit the lava lakes would speak with here.</p>
<p>Carefully, with the hot stone searing his front, Dream shifts along the ledge above the two as they make their way, slowly, so so slowly, up the path.</p>
<p>After a few steps, Dream’s arms can reach George’s shoulders. He brackets the other in his grasp, never quite touching but only a breath away, ready to catch him should he slip, should he fall.</p>
<p>If George falls, slips through his fingers like wind or dirt or oceanless sand, like starlight, it will be Dream’s fault—</p>
<p>His biggest failure—</p>
<p>But that simply won’t happen.</p>
<p>He refuses.</p>
<p>So each step George takes sideways, each inch he creeps upwards, Dream shifts along above him until George is close enough to the top that he can press back against the jagged cliff face and almost sit on the edge.</p>
<p>Dream breaks. He makes sure he’s secure in his spot, before wrapping his hands around George’s hips and lifting. George is clearly startled, but he adjusts, padding the boy as they fall onto solid land, held tightly in Dream’s grasp.</p>
<p>Everything is too warm, burning against his raw skin, and it fucking hurts. Everything hurts, but he holds George and this lost child. Not for long, but for a moment, one single drop of blood in the rolling deserts of time, they’re safe.</p>
<p>Introductions are brief, barely a smile, but Dream ends up carrying the boy. Mallory, he learns. Despite their years together, Dream is still stronger than George, and even with the injury he got earlier in the Nether, he takes the extra burden. It’s his job. It’s everything he’s supposed to be.</p>
<p>The minutes pass by like golden sun dripping down on a burning hot summer day, stretching seconds into years. Every step is worse than the last, but they’re getting closer, Dream can tell, so the growing pain of every passing moment is more worth it.</p>
<p>George leads the way with his sword perpetually drawn, and Dream feels vitriol for this place bubbling thick and molten in his chest. When they get into the red forest, George has to single handedly defeat three of the terrible hogs on his own. Dream can only stand back, shield covering the boy cowering and whimpering in fear against his chest, and watch. One of the beasts lands a heavy hit on George’s hip, and Dream can see the way he hides the wound. It doesn’t seem fatal, and even though Dream would normally press about it, right now all they can do is push forward.</p>
<p>And they push, because they’re <i>close</i>.</p>
<p>He can see their faded marks on the land, and when they pass the crater from their first night here, when Dream laid out a bed roll and it caught fire so quickly that they barely ran from the cracking, spitting explosion it burst into in time, they know that they’re a day away.</p>
<p>Less, now that they know how to get through the terrible, terrible terrain.</p>
<p>They’re going to make it.</p>
<p>Battered, bruised, and broken.</p>
<p>But they’re going to make it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mallory isn’t doing well. George can tell it by the way that he shivers, sweating out all the water they give him. He can tell by the laboured breathing and the way the boy is barely awake as they near the portal. George tried his best to dress the wound in his side, but until they get somewhere that he can properly clean it, George can’t take the arrow out of Mallory’s side. They just walk at a pace, limping and stumbling, that shouldn’t be maintainable in their state but it is because they have no other choice.</p>
<p>No, Mallory isn’t doing well, but they can’t do anything except push. The second they get out, the second they get more water, George can wash the wound, can make a healing potion一 a proper, real healing potion, made with the Nether Wart they got from the castle. He can heal the boy, and with the help of the world on their side, they can save him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything is dark, but the swirling, rippling blue of their portal and the shining black obsidian surrounding it is salvation.</p>
<p>They don’t run towards it. No, their legs ache far too terribly after so long a period of non-stop travel, like their muscles are filled with devouring heat and molten rock. They don’t run, they barely even smile, but they breathe, and they push, and then they’re standing in the layer of oil-slick, slimy, stone-smooth portal.</p>
<p>George doesn’t puke, but it’s only because there’s nothing in his body to reject. Everything in him is too tired for the warping feeling of traveling through the swollen folds of reality to matter. Dream doesn’t puke either, just holds a grim look about his face, and stands tense and tall.</p>
<p>Mallory does, expelling the barest amount of water and food they’ve managed to give him onto the ground the second they’re through.</p>
<p>And that’s when the cold hits.</p>
<p>The frost of a strong, insistent gale wraps around them like it thought they were dead, like an over enthusiastic dog knocking them flat, and the sentiment is appreciated, George thinks, but it’s so much to handle.</p>
<p>Still, the cold against his skin is heaven, he thinks, despite the way it burns and makes him feel like he’s melting the snow under his worn shoes.</p>
<p>He looks down and <i>he is.</i></p>
<p>Dream is too.</p>
<p>Mallory’s eyes flutter open and he blinks at the golden sky. It’s striped in color that George can’t place, but it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.</p>
<p>They’re safe.</p>
<p>They’re <i>free.</i></p>
<p>And George smiles.</p>
<p>He takes a steadying breath, weak and shaky and still so broken, and he gets to work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cold nearly knocks him down with how jarring the difference is, but what really brings him to his knees, falling hard on the tired, pained joints, snow instantly melting and seeping into his torn pants, is the wave of relief he gets upon reconnecting with every piece of the world around them.</p>
<p>The sun, still in the sky, calls a desperate hello, buzzing under his skin. The wind wraps them in a blanket of refreshing cold that feels like a strangling hug. Somewhere distant, he feels the pounding thrum of the ocean, rejoicing in their return. He the moon and even the void beat a hello brimming with relief. Even the earth begins waking from her slumber, grass growing rapidly through the snow to tangle around his and George’s legs.</p>
<p>The stars press in, flickering alive against the still bright sky, a cacophony, blinding and apocalyptic, breaking the heavens apart.</p>
<p>Dream screams his hello back.</p>
<p>The shiver that wracks him then is violent, painfully so, and the reality of the cold begins to settle into his chest, burning his already stung skin almost worse than the lava did.</p>
<p>He watches George start to gather snow into the empty glass bottles in their packs. Some were filled with soul sand, but most were empty. Dream watches as his hands shake, his skin rapidly turning bright red.</p>
<p>Mallory starts to tremble against his chest, and when he meets the boy’s eyes they’re wide in pain and fear and hope.</p>
<p>They flicker shut. The too fast, whistling huff of his breathing is all that indicates he’s still alive.</p>
<p>Dream needs to pray. The only thing that can save this boy is the gods, now.</p>
<p>Settling into the icy cold ground, he crosses his legs and holds Mallory close to his chest to keep him warm. He closes his eyes. The world around them filters out. Other than George, who he’s always aware of, always, everything slips away. It’s him, the boy cradled to his chest, and the buzzing, pounding, thrumming, humming call of the gods. Even the everything-nothing hell of the void.</p>
<p>All of it, good and terrible, overwhelming. Deadly.</p>
<p>Dream opens up and lets them in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George is building a fire in front of Dream and Mallory, and he’s terrified. Dream looks comatose, he can see the ripple of something passing through him like spasms, but he holds steady. He watches as the world reacts like something from a nightmare一 a sky full of it all, the storm clouds on the horizon, the sun, frozen where it sets, the stars suspended around the full moon. The wind races in circles around them, rattling the bare trees mere yards away, but never touching them. And the earth… he watches as the grass grows rapidly, wrapping and twisting around Dream until his legs are blanketed in it. The tree branches directly surrounding them bud and flower and bloom into leaves that die in his vision, falling and being carried up and away as if they never were real in the first place. The process repeats, over, and over, and over again.</p>
<p>George focuses on the fire, on melting the snow in the bottles and boiling it, purifying it.</p>
<p>He’s fucking terrified, but he trusts Dream, meaning he trusts the gods. It’s to save a life. Hell, for the sake of innocence that will forever be tarnished, but could yet again be whole.</p>
<p>The boiled water goes in the snow nearby, and instead of melting it, frost grows on the bottle. When he touches it, it’s gone luke-warm near instantly.</p>
<p>George has access to Mallory’s wound despite the fact that he’s still held protectively in Dream’s arms, grass wrapping over his near limp form, and George makes good use of it. He slowly pours the purified water over the wound, putting some into the boy’s mouth. He swallows, coughing and wheezing, still unconscious.</p>
<p>It’s probably for the best, George thinks, as he begins to prepare for the removal of the arrow.</p>
<p>George wouldn’t want to be conscious for this, either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="big">“<b>St</b><sub>a</sub>r!”</span> <i>“一b</i>a<b>c<i><span class="u">k!</span></i></b><i><span class="u">”</span></i> “...<b>d</b><sub>i<b><span class="u">d</span></b></sub><b><span class="u"> i</span></b><span class="u">t一</span>” <span class="big">“<s>Dr<b>e</b></s></span><span class="small">a<sup>m</sup><i>!</i></span>” <b>“Y<sup>e</sup></b><i>s,</i>” <span class="u">“一<i>p<sub>e</sub>r</i></span><i>f<sup><b>e</b></sup></i><b><span class="big">c</span></b><span class="big">t…”</span> <sub>“M</sub><span class="small"><b>y</b></span> <span class="big">c<b>h</b>i<b></b></span><b><i><sup>l</sup></i>d,</b>” “一<span class="u">c<sup><b>ar</b>e</sup></span><sub><i>f</i><span class="u">ul一”</span></sub><span class="u"> <i>“...d<span class="big"><s>y</s></span></i></span><i><span class="big"><s><sub></sub></s></span></i><span class="big"><s>i</s></span><s><span class="small">n<i>g</i></span></s><i>,”</i> “N<b>o一</b>” <sup>“...m<span class="u">i</span></sup><span class="u">s<i>s<b>e</b></i></span><i>d</i>…” “一l<sup>ate</sup>…” <b><i>“一er<span class="big">ri</span></i></b><i><span class="big">ble,</span>”</i> <b><span class="u">“一oth</span></b><span class="u"><sup>in</sup>g</span> t<b>o</b> <sub>b</sub>e一” “<i>...<span class="big">Go</span></i><span class="small">od一”</span></p>
<p><i>Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithuithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts</i>一</p>
<p>
  <b>Help… him</b>
</p>
<p><span class="big">“一ki<b>l<sub>l一” “...b</sub></b></span><span class="small">rok<i>en.</i>” “h</span><b>e’<sup><span class="u">s</span></sup></b><span class="u"><sup> de</sup></span>一” “T<i>ry!” “一<span class="small"><sub>hel</sub></span>p</i>一” “.<sup>..c<b>an<s>’t n</s>o一” “<i>St</i></b><i>a</i></sup><i>r!” “一<b>c</b>om</i>fo<b>rt一</b>”</p>
<p><i>Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithuithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithuithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts</i>一</p>
<p>“<sup>N</sup><i>o!</i>” “<span class="small"><sub>...<b>g</b></sub></span><span class="big">o</span>…” <span class="u">“一d<sup>e<b>a</b></sup></span><b>d…” “...<sub>t</sub></b>o<i>o l<b>a</b></i>一” “...<span class="big">st</span><span class="small"><b><s>o</s></b></span><s><span class="big"><i>p</i> i</span></s><sub>t,</sub>” <b>“b<i><sup>re</sup></i></b>at<sub>h一”</sub> “一c<b><sup><span class="u"><s>r</s></span></sup><sub>e<sub><sup>ati</sup></sub></sub></b>o一” <span class="big">“一t<b></b></span><b><span class="small"><sup>r</sup></span><span class="big">y!</span></b><span class="big">”</span> “..<s>.ot b<sup>a<b>l<span class="u">a</span></b></sup><b><span class="u">n</span></b><span class="u">c</span></s><span class="u">e</span><sub>d…</sub>” “<b>一h<s>e’</s></b><s>s <sub><sub>u</sub></sub></s>s一” “一u<span class="big"><b>m</b></span><span class="small">an</span>…” “D<b>re<sup>a</sup></b>m一” “一<b>y<sub>i</sub><span class="big">n</span></b><sup>g</sup>…” “...<s><i><b><sub>no</sub></b></i></s>…” “...<sup>fir</sup><sub>e</sub>一” “<s>It<b>’s ti</b>m<sup><i>e,</i></sup>”</s> “<span class="big">一no</span><b><sub>t</sub> <sup>wi</sup></b>s<b><span class="big">e</span>一”</b></p>
<p>
  <b>Please</b>
</p>
<p>“<sub>...f</sub><s>ar</s>…” <b>“一d<span class="small"><sup>ow</sup></span></b><span class="small">n</span>f<i>all.</i>” “一n<i>ot</i> <span class="u">po<span class="small">ss</span></span>i一” “H<b><sup>e’s us!”</sup></b> “<i>...ch<sup>o</sup></i>se<b>n…</b>” <i>“<b>S</b>t</i>o<span class="u">p!</span>” “...<span class="u">b<i>e</i></span><i><b>l<sub>ie</sub></b></i><b>f</b> in…” “一l<s>if</s>e…” “<s>Y<span class="big">e</span></s><span class="big">s…</span>” “一<sup>c</sup>a<span class="small">n’t</span> <span class="big">s<s>to</s>p</span>一” “一d<sup>yin</sup>g,” “...no一” <b>“<sup><span class="big">一d<span class="u">e</span></span></sup><span class="big"><span class="u">a</span>d.”</span></b></p>
<p>
  <b>
    <span class="small">Please.</span>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can see everything. Dream is watching Mallory, from above, from behind, from underneath and ahead. He can see the world through the boy's eyes. They’re in his village, and everything is burning.</p>
<p>Mallory stands at the edge of it all, locking eyes with his mother.</p>
<p>Her hair is on fire.</p>
<p>The flames are devouring her whole.</p>
<p><i>”Mallory! Run!”</i> She yells, and it’s her, it’s his mother, but at the same time it’s not.</p>
<p>The boy, scared, confused, and alone for the first time in his life, turns and runs into the cold night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He travels alone for a week, heading towards the nearest trading village, but he’s lost.</p>
<p>The trees wrap up around him like sentries of death, and the snow promises him a cozy casket in the ice.</p>
<p>That, of course, is when he sees it.</p>
<p>The portal, new and mysterious, swirling and calling him. Maybe this will save him.</p>
<p>Dream knows what lies on the other side, but Mallory doesn’t.</p>
<p>He’s shivering.</p>
<p>He hasn’t eaten in a few days, but at least the snow can give him water.</p>
<p>Life and death, equally balanced.</p>
<p>Mallory enters the portal, and sees a land of his worst nightmares and most wondrous fantasies. It’s an escape from the hell that his reality has been, and it’s welcome despite the fear it carries.</p>
<p>The boy starts exploring, and Dream can hear his thoughts but they don’t make sense一 they’re nonsensical, delusional. He thinks that he’ll be able to find his mother within the flames here.</p>
<p>Instead, he finds the armored, armed, bipedal pigs, and learns about debilitating physical pain.</p>
<p>Dream wants to fight them for him, wants to fight the world for this boy who reminds him too much of himself for comfort, but he can’t. He’s trapped in the fabric of this world, this memory, powerless.</p>
<p>Mallory limps down the cliff side, into the cave, and stays there, even after the bleeding stops.</p>
<p>Because he thinks he sees his mother in the lava.</p>
<p>But he can’t move to join her.</p>
<p>So he just stays.</p>
<p>And it hurts,</p>
<p>And she disappears, but now he can’t move.</p>
<p>And he’s so, so afraid,</p>
<p>And utterly, entirely alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The pain splits his brain in two, and it feels like every bone in his body is shattering.</p>
<p>He can feel Mallory, pressed against his chest, still dying.</p>
<p>So he begs them.</p>
<p>Through the cacophony of the threading fibers of reality at its purest, he reaches towards Ophiucus, the healer, and Heracles, the miraculous warrior. He calls for Callisto, and begs.</p>
<p>But the pain一</p>
<p><i>Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts</i>一</p>
<p>And all the words are jumbled around in his head, and he can’t make out the messages in the jumbled, hellish, grating mess of the soundscape. </p>
<p>And Mallory is dying, in his arms.</p>
<p>“<b>一d<span class="u">es<sup><sup>e</sup></sup></span></b><span class="u">rv</span><sup><i>e</i>s</sup> <span class="u"><sub><i>i</i></sub></span><i><span class="big">t</span>…” “<span class="small">L</span><b><span class="big">if</span></b></i><b><span class="big">e</span></b> i<sup>s</sup> <s>pa</s><sub>i</sub>一” “一b<span class="u">r<sup>ea</sup></span>t<sub><b>h</b></sub><b>e一” “It</b>’s b<b>e</b><span class="big"><span class="big">t<i>te</i></span><sup>r</sup>一” “...i<span class="small"><span class="small"><i>s m<s>o</s></i></span><i><s><sub>th</sub></s></i><s><b><sup>e</sup></b></s><b>r…” “L</b>e<span class="big">t h<span class="u">i<i>m</i></span></span><span class="u"><i> g</i>一”</span> “...<sub>hur</sub><b>tin</b><i>g<s> star</s></i>一” “<span class="big"><b>D</b></span><sub>r<span class="u">e</span></sub><span class="u"><span class="big">a</span><sub>m</sub>!”</span> “...<b>n</b><span class="small">o</span>…” “一<sup>wr</sup><i>on<sup>g</sup>…” “...d</i><span class="big">ie</span>.” “一fo<b><span class="small">r b</span><sub>a</sub></b>la<span class="big"><s>nce…</s></span>” “F<sup>o</sup>r s<b>ta<i>r!</i></b>” “...<b>s<span class="big">to</span>p</b> <span class="u">t<sub>hi</sub></span>s…” “一<span class="big">no</span><span class="small">ns<b><i><sup>en</sup>s</i></b>e</span>一” “<span class="small">...<s>mi</s></span><s><b><span class="big">sta</span>ke!</b></s>” “<i>N<sup>o</sup></i>!” “<span class="u">Y<b>o<sub>u</sub></b>’r<i></i></span><i>e一”</i> “一<sub>w</sub><sup>r<b>o</b></sup><b><span class="big">n</span></b><span class="big">g</span>一” “<sub><b>St</b></sub><s><span class="u">ar</span></s>!” “一h<b>e</b>’<span class="big">ll <sub>le</sub>a</span><i>v</i><sup>e</sup>一” “...l<i>e<sub><sub>t <b>h</b></sub><b>i</b></sub></i><b><span class="u"></span></b><span class="u">m…” “S</span><span class="small">t</span><span class="big">op</span>!” <span class="big"><b><i>“DR<sup>EA</sup>M!”</i></b></span></span></span></p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Dream is begging but一</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">
      <i>It <b>hurts.</b></i>
    </span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Dream is unresponsive, still, almost convulsing in his skin. His eyes are flicking rapidly back and forth behind his lids. His eyebrows are pinched in pain.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Mallory’s breathing is shallow, faint.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">The stitches are done, clean and wrapped.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">The potion is almost ready.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">The grass has grown up to his waist where he’s sitting.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">It’s wrapped it’s way around Dream’s chest.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">And George is <i>terrified.</i></span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small"><i>Please,</i> he begs the stars, hung in the still light sky, despite the amount of time that’s passed. <i>If you can’t save the boy,</i> he calls, and it hurts, the thought hurts so terribly, because after everything, all of the pain and trouble and heartache for this stranger, for this lost child, his death would make it all mean nothing. And yet, he still begs, <i>bring Dream back to me, please.</i></span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">And as he pours the shimmering potion down Mallory’s throat, as he watches his skin glow, then flicker out, as he watches the boy’s breathing grow weaker, as he watches the grass wrap further around his body, he <i>begs.</i></span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">It’s the void, Dream recognizes, that finally breaks through the chaos.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Not the wind, his closest confidant other than George.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Not the sun or ocean, strong, steady, guiding figures.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Not the earth, the beating heart of his compassion and empathy.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Not <i>the stars,</i> his patrons, his dearest, his family.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">But the void, distant, impartial, that breaks through.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">It’s hell, just like he barely remembers.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small">Yet alone, in comparison to all of the gods together, at one time, it’s fucking peace.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="big">
    <span class="small"><i>“<span class="small">B<b>a</b></span><b><sup>la</sup></b>nc<b>e, <span class="u">s<span class="big">t</span></span></b><span class="u"><span class="big">a</span>r. <sub>Th</sub></span>is <sup>i</sup>s ba</i><s>la</s><sub><b>n</b></sub><s>c</s>e, a<b>nd</b> t<sup>her</sup><sub>e is</sub> s<i>t<b>r<span class="small">e</span></b>n<span class="u"><sup>gt</sup></span></i><span class="u">h</span> i<sub><span class="small">n</span></sub> <span class="small">l</span><b><span class="big">e</span></b><span class="small">t<b>t<i>in</i></b></span><b><i>g g<sup>o</sup>.</i></b><i> <s>Th<sub>er</sub></s></i>e <sup>i</sup><span class="big">s</span> h<sub>a</sub><sup><i>p</i></sup><i><sub>p</sub></i>i<b>n<span class="big">es</span></b>s <sub>pa</sub><i><span class="big">st</span> <sub></sub></i>th<i>i<b>s.</b> <sup>Le</sup>t <sub><b>hi</b></sub></i><b>m</b> <span class="big">g</span><span class="small">o</span>, <sub>s</sub><sup>t<b>a</b></sup><b>r.</b> I<i><b>t’s hi</b></i>s <sup>ti<s>me</s></sup><s>. Do</s> n<sub>o<b>t m</b></sub>a<i>k<span class="big">e us t</span>e</i><b><sup>ar</sup> <span class="big">hi</span></b><i>m <sub>aw</sub></i>a<b>y.”</b></span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>And it hurts, like metal against ceramic or a blade dragging slowly across his ear-drums, but it’s the words that hurt the most.</p>
<p>He wants to keep fighting.</p>
<p>He’s fighting so, so hard.</p>
<p>But, deep down, Dream knows it’s a battle already lost.</p>
<p>He’s known since the second the gods started arguing in his head.</p>
<p>But Dream fought, as desperately as he could, and he did what he could.</p>
<p>He didn’t fail.</p>
<p>Mallory isn’t dying at a fault of his own.</p>
<p>He and George did everything they could.</p>
<p>Dream’s tore himself to shreds, fighting for this lost boy’s life.</p>
<p>No, the stars are to blame.</p>
<p>He <i>begged</i>, and yet it meant nothing.</p>
<p>His stars.</p>
<p>When he needs them most, they watch on, apathetic.</p>
<p>How pathetic.</p>
<p>Maybe Dream is the pathetic one, for believing their lies for so, so long, but only the truly despicable would betray someone like this, would sentence a boy to death.</p>
<p>With a deep breath, Dream starts cutting off pathways.</p>
<p>The voices blink out, one by one, fading until even the hum of their presence is gone. The wind and earth are the last to go. He can’t bring himself to sever them completely, but he’s not sure he can ever be open to them again.</p>
<p>
  <i>It hurts.</i>
</p>
<p>He’s given all he has though, and they’ve turned their back on him.</p>
<p>For the first time in a very, very long time, the only thoughts and feelings living in his chest are his own.</p>
<p>Dream can’t quite figure out how to feel about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George watches Mallory die.</p>
<p>It’s terrible.</p>
<p>A smile flutters across his features and the pained lines smooth out, and soon, he just looks peaceful, with his ratty, black hair and ash covered skin.</p>
<p>The grass around Dream slackens, shifting to the boy in Dream’s arms.</p>
<p>Dream’s eyebrows flatten back down, his features unscrew, and his eyes grow still. He looks tired.</p>
<p>He looks so, so tired, and George’s heart breaks for him, but his breathing is steadier, deep if shaking a bit, and he can’t help but be relieved. The sun begins to set once again, and the stars fade into the background. The wind dies down. The leaves stop growing.</p>
<p>Gently, he snakes his hands under the dead boy’s body, already cooling, and so, so limp, and pulls him from Dream’s grasp. He lets go willingly, maybe unconsciously, and George lays him on the earth, watching as grass and vines and flowers grow over him.</p>
<p>George watches as he’s subsumed into the earth, as night falls, and he watches as Dream’s eyes flutter open. With his ash dusted skin and his heat burned cheeks, the tears in his eyes stand out.</p>
<p>And all George can do, with matching tears and small, desperate sobs pressing painfully out of his still raw throat, is hug Dream as clouds take over the sky, and snow begins falling peacefully into the night.</p>
<p>Balance restored, once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After that night, George realizes that Dream is different. He doesn’t talk to the wind anymore, doesn’t ask the earth for comfort. He barely regards the sun and moon, and generally avoids the ocean.</p>
<p>He abhors the stars.</p>
<p>George may never understand everything that happened that night, but he does know that Dream is broken, worn down after years and years of losing the people closest to him.</p>
<p>He’s hurting, and George promises that he’ll do everything he can to never let Dream lose another that he holds close to his shredded, bleeding heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream came into his life and gave him the universe. He placed the stars in the sky for George.</p>
<p>So George vows, as he watches Dream’s broken form watch the trees like he’s seeing them for the first time, to be the one to help Dream heal, to be there for him always, for as long as the other needs him.</p>
<p>He promises to give Dream back to the universe, to make the world whole once again.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>The screams of the dying ring in his ears, the ghosts of those killed in war haunting his empty tent. Dream could be out there, helping, fighting with those he’s grown to call his friends, but Techno refuses.</p>
<p>Pride shall be man’s downfall, he supposes.</p>
<p>If Techno would just let go of his pride, admit that Dream is better than him, give him the discs back, he would <i>help them.</i></p>
<p>But no, Techno is too caught up in his own world to do what has to be done. He’s being selfish, and people are dying. He knows what he has to do to stop them.</p>
<p>It’s not even difficult.</p>
<p>So Dream lays there, on the cot, staring at the tent above him. It’s hard not to think about everything the world’s taken from him, all the things given to him before they’re ripped away. But really, staring at the heavy fabric hung across his vision, separating him from the dim, blue sky above, Dream knows it’s his fault.</p>
<p>It’s all his fault.</p>
<p>He’s never been good enough. When he was barely a child, he was so obviously weak that his own parents had to discard him. Then, when the time came to put his years of training, of gods-gifted talent to use, he failed. Everyone he loved is dead because of it. Through his years of travel, Dream always thought he could rely on the stars, the universe breathing life into his world, but they decided that he wasn’t worthy, either. The one time, the only, single time that he begged something of them, that he prayed for their help, they ignored it. They let the boy from the Nether die, even after he gave himself over to them fully, because he wasn’t enough.</p>
<p>He’ll never be enough.</p>
<p>And George一</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>It’s <i>not his fault.</i></p>
<p>It’s not.</p>
<p>It’s Techno’s fault, because Techno is an ass. He’s proud and volatile and selfish, and he wants what’s best for himself before he wants what’s best for his people, and he’s a reminder of why Dream hates royalty, hates those in power. Power always corrupts, and it’s clear that Techno is no different from anyone else.</p>
<p>He’s lost at sea, drifting in the waves of hate and fear, held afloat on a raft of words and ideas that might be true, might not be, but if they turn out to be lies then it’ll crumble, and he’ll drown.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t have anyone to pull him back to shore, and even if he did, he’s so far away from solid land that it’d be useless anyways. Instead, he clings to his ideas, to his defenses, weaves lies through the truths of his ribs, caging his heart, keeping it safe.</p>
<p>And he floats.</p>
<p>Stuck deep in the winding tunnels and crashing waves of his mind, he doesn’t hear the explosions, doesn’t register the violence, doesn’t notice the tent flap opening. He’s barely existing in his own skin, tethered to reality by one fraying thread, a single, simple truth.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not his fault.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sees the blood first. It spots against the shirt, staining the sleeves, marring their pale hands. He recognizes the hands almost better than his own, and for a moment it feels like he’s seeing George for the first time again, standing above him, haloed, his savior.</p>
<p>But Dream may as well be a rotting corpse with the way that George regards him. A part of his brain screams that there’s concern in the other’s expression, but he knows better than to let his head lie to him. He can tell, George stands here as a messenger. The brunet is more of a hero than he ever was, than he ever will be.</p>
<p>The raft starts to shatter under him, and he pushes the thoughts out.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not his fault.</i>
</p>
<p>Pretending like seeing his face isn’t the most soothing, painful thing Dream thinks he’ll ever experience, he sits, swinging his legs down. The lack of his mask makes him feel vulnerable, it hurts in the way he tries to shutter his expression to one of disinterest. He knows that he can’t just keep his face blank, can’t just show nothing, not like George so easily can. No, his attempt at disinterest manifests in a smile that’s so clearly fake, settled atop the crooked, unhappy line of his brow and it reads as contempt.</p>
<p>But the contempt strengthens the raft that sways so terribly under his shaking form, steadies the waves, and he’s terrified of it. He lets the anger seep through, performance becoming reality as the deep blue, almost black waves roll under them.</p>
<p>“Hey, Georgie,” he greets, and the words are saccharine, thick and syrupy, but he can’t help it.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not his fault.</i>
</p>
<p>George sneers at the words, and his face is a battlefield unto itself. His features, tired, resigned, broken一 they form hate, and Dream thinks, as the raft begins breaking apart around him, that it’s deserved.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’re losing. The war effort is falling apart, because without Dream, there’s nothing to stop L’Manburg from releasing Tommy’s full wrath on their soldiers. George’s hands are covered in the blood of the barely living and the long dead, and he can’t stand to watch another person die.</p>
<p>When he enters the tent to see Dream, staring bleakly up at nothing, his eyes full of everything that George never wanted to see again, all he feels is raw pain crawling around inside his skin like poisonous bugs, vile and disgusting.</p>
<p>Because George hasn’t been here for Dream, has he?</p>
<p>He can’t excuse the way Dream has acted to him, to all of them, but maybe he’s been wrong too. He’s never asked after the other, helped to hold him back from his breaking point. And really, that’s where Dream is right now一 staring at all that’s broken and seeing himself in the shards.</p>
<p>George walks up to the other’s cot, familiar from times far better than the present, and stands there. He watches the way Dream’s hazy vision focuses, shutters, flashes in pain, then goes sour.</p>
<p>It’s fake, he knows, but George can’t tell what it’s covering, and he wonders when Dream got so good at lying to them all.</p>
<p>The blond sits up, as casual as can be, and George <i>knows</i> that it’s an act, but it pisses him off. There are people dying, there’s blood on his hands一 but George can’t get angry right now. Not when he has something to do, something bigger than himself, than them both.</p>
<p>“Hello Georgie.”</p>
<p>It hurts.</p>
<p>It really, truly does.</p>
<p>There’s hatred here, broken promises like wilted spring lilies killed by a late frost. It’s poison and sulfur, every one of their downfalls piled together to create a mountain, and George can’t seem to climb it. It’s terrible, true, absolute horror, and George doesn’t know what to do.</p>
<p>“Please,” he says, lost in the fake hate in the other’s eyes.</p>
<p>Is it fake? Or has Dream died somewhere inside himself, leaving the rot and decay to wear his skin like a parasite?</p>
<p>“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Dream replies, tone smooth, holding entire worlds of secrets and turbulence hidden under its surface.</p>
<p>George grinds his teeth. “The war, Dream. Please,” he breathes, and it’s broken, it’s a sob folded within a syllable, it’s all too much, yet far, far too little. “Come fight.”</p>
<p>A flood of emotions fill Dream’s green eyes faster than he can mask them in hateful frost, and among them, George catches fear the strongest.</p>
<p>But then it’s gone, and George wants to feel empathy. There’s a shattered part of him that screams to reach out, to wrap Dream in safety and guide him back from the edge, but it’s a ghost, killed by the man in front of him. Left in its place is an aching, angry piece of him that can’t separate the cowardice from selfishness and pride.</p>
<p>Dream sways forward like he’s having a mundane conversation, as average as what ingredients to buy for omelets. “The discs?” He asks, and George can only think of the hundreds, thousands of lives that are being taken into the earth at this very moment, over a quarrel so, so stupid.</p>
<p>Anger boils under his skin.</p>
<p>And for once? He lets it out freely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If George was angry, hateful when he came in, he’s livid now. A tremor runs up his left forearm, where his fingers are clenched into a fist. Dream kind of thinks that George should hit him.</p>
<p>But no… no一</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not his fault, it’s not is fault, it’s not his fault一</i>
</p>
<p>“You gods-forsaken piece of shit! Is that <i>all</i> you care about?” George snaps, and his words are lava, spitting and spewing from a crack in the Nether’s wall. They’re loud and Dream swallows a mouthful of bitter, black poison.</p>
<p>It’s cracking and shattering apart, and the waves are rising.</p>
<p>And Dream is <i>desperate.</i></p>
<p>Pushing himself up roughly, he stands. The space between him and George is small, forcing the other to look up at him.</p>
<p>He hates this.</p>
<p>But it’s not his fault.</p>
<p>It’s can’t be his <i>fucking fault</i>, because if it is, then he really is worthless. He might as well just <i>die.</i></p>
<p>“Says you,” Dream says, and it’s a growl. “You’ve made it obvious what happens when you <i>care</i> about something.”</p>
<p>And the anger burns, setting the self-loathing in his chest alight. It serves as perfect fuel for the rage he uses to mask just how close he is to dead.</p>
<p>He watches as shock flashes across George’s gold-dust features, and he relishes in the pain.</p>
<p>“Nether, Dream! I followed you to hell and back, I would’ve died for you.”</p>
<p>Dream would still die for George.</p>
<p>Water, black-tar molasses, thick and bitter, clings to his skin, drags him under, and he grabs the broken pieces of his raft.</p>
<p>It’s not his fault.</p>
<p>“And I would’ve died for you! But you left, the second I stopped being perfect一”</p>
<p>“I left because all you care about is yourself!”</p>
<p><i>No,</i> he screams, <i>it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault!</i></p>
<p>Dream bites down on his tongue until it bleeds. The metallic liquid drips down his throat, feeding the hate in his stomach.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know who or what he hates.</p>
<p>Maybe everything.</p>
<p>Probably himself, if he’s being honest. Honesty tastes like spoiled milk though, and he’s drowning.</p>
<p>“If Techno sent you, you can tell him to kiss my ass or talk to me himself.” The words are ground out between his clenched teeth, and his breathing is growing faster. He can’t do this.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not his fault.</i>
</p>
<p>“Listen to yourself! What the fuck changed, Dream?”</p>
<p>What changed?</p>
<p>
  <i>Everything.</i>
</p>
<p>A boy died in his arms.</p>
<p>He gave all of himself and lost every single piece of the world he held dear.</p>
<p>Dream could never save anyone.</p>
<p>It’d make sense that he can’t save himself.</p>
<p>“Care to elaborate?” he drawls, and it’s hell.</p>
<p>Maybe nothing changed, but he knows exactly what George is talking about.</p>
<p>Dream wants to hear him <i>say it.</i></p>
<p>“You were so一 so good, once,” George murmurs, and it’s broken. “You were a god among men. You held the world in your hands, and you gave it to every bleeding heart that needed it.” A hysterical laugh tears out of George’s throat, and the noise is disgusting. “Now, Dream?” he starts, meeting Dream’s eyes, fire, hatred clear in them. “You’re no better than a void-damned zombie.” His lips curl in disgust, and Dream can feel it. Can feel the rage.</p>
<p>It’s overflowing, and Dream can’t breathe.</p>
<p><i>It’s not his fault</i>一</p>
<p>“This?” he breathes, pushing into Dream’s space, glaring, and he can’t even remember to keep his mask of cool hate up. He’s drowning, unrescuable, too far gone. “It’s your <i>fault</i>. You could choose to stop this- this death, you could stop this entire war, but you’re too fucking selfish!”</p>
<p>“You don’t know what the fuck you’re saying一” Dream tries, but it falls on deaf ears.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not his fault一</i>
</p>
<p>“You’d be damn lucky, Dream, if the stars ever decided to forgive you!”</p>
<p>The lies dissolve and his lungs fill with death, with all the blood he’s shed, all the blood he’s drawn. It’s his sins, the weight of his failings crushing him from above as he’s pulled further, and further down.</p>
<p>He can’t breathe.</p>
<p>Because it <i>is</i> his fault.</p>
<p>Of course it is.</p>
<p>Who else’s would it be?</p>
<p>“Fuck you, George,” he says, and it’s a whispered sob. The words tremble and he can’t <i>breathe</i>. He can’t stay here, not when there are tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he repeats, voice low, breaking, “And fucking those <i>fucking stars</i>.”</p>
<p>Dream leaves.</p>
<p>He doesn’t have anything, not his mask, not a weapon or a shield or a single piece of armor, but he could care less.</p>
<p>Weak as he is, he does what he does best: he flees, running away to the North Cliff, to Violet Bay, the place where everything fell apart.</p>
<p>Maybe when he reaches the cliff face, he’ll be able to see just how worthless he is in the mirror of restless water below.</p>
<p>As for now, he walks, choking on his breath, his eyes blurred with tears, because he’s pathetic.</p>
<p>Because George is right, and there’s not a single thing he can do to fix this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you sm for reading!! I hope I didn't hurt you too bad! But hey, we finally have Dream and George's entire back story! So what do you know? (Oh, my trauma boys,)<br/>It would mean the world if you dropped a kudo or left a nice lil comment (or con crit! I haven't rlly said that before but I'm always open to some *kind* criticism), and thanks sm to everyone who already has, and especially my repeat commenters &lt;3 y'all make me so so happy :]<br/>Follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/crappyravioli">twt</a> and <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/honkschnoo">tumblr</a> for updates on the chapters and my writing!! Also for just generally good mcyt content idk what to tell you, I'm just cool like that B]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Mushrooms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>And there may not be meaning, so find one and seize it<br/>Do not waste yourself on this roof</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bonus:<br/><i>And if all my luck should burn,<br/>Then I guess it burned for you</i><br/>Plane Crash, Covey</p>
<p>TW for suicidal thoughts from <i>"The ground is cool under his legs..."</i> to <i>"His feet meet the ground and in his wake..."</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ebb and flow of the ocean has always been lovely, in George’s opinion. When he was young, he would climb down the rocky coast and sit on a low rock so that his feet would hang in the dark, choppy water. In his travels, he’s seen both the murkiest, most turbulent, crashing waves as well as the warmest, most inviting turquoise waters; he’s seen every single combination in between. The thing he loves most about the ocean is its variety. Within the span of a day, water that was once lazily sloshing against the shore in an inviting, calm rhythm could turn into a heavy and erratic torrent, as deadly as could be. One wrong move, one stumble or poorly placed step could send you to your death.</p>
<p>And yet, as sure as time itself, the storm would die, the water would calm, and the rage would fade away.</p>
<p>George feels a lot like the ocean after a terrible storm right now.</p>
<p>It must be exhausting, being the ocean.</p>
<p>The storm has faded, the anger swept out into the vast expanse of the universe by the serene brutality of the waves. In return, flashes of pain and realization wash ashore. There was panic, as clear as day, on Dream’s face. Panic and pain, mixing into a cocktail of self-hatred, topped in a drizzle of fear, all because of George’s words.</p>
<p>
  <i>How was he so blind?</i>
</p>
<p>George knows Dream, knows him almost better than he knows himself, yet he missed it all, far too caught up in his own inner turmoil.</p>
<p>Even still, all he can taste is the bitter reality of pain and anger.</p>
<p>Dream’s been falling down towards a rocky shore. He was reaching, calling, screaming for help in the only ways he knew how, but George looked away. He never wanted to believe that they’d end up here, but here he is, staring reality in its bleeding, black eyes, and the truth is that they’re not okay. Dream is plummeting faster than he thinks can be stopped, reaching, arms outstretched, straight towards rock bottom.</p>
<p>The truth he sees reflected in the inky pits of his own desperate realization is this: there’s nothing that he can do.</p>
<p>Dream is his entire world. He’s the ebb and flow of the ocean, the wind brushing through George’s hair. He’s the brightest, most gorgeous star in the shimmering night sky, and George is stuck in his orbit. It’s intoxicating and impossible. He’d be lying if he said that he would ever get out.</p>
<p>The thing is, the problem stealing all of his breath and crushing him whole, the one thing standing between him and the treacherous need to chase after Dream and fix this, is the war. He came to talk to Dream only because of how terribly this battle is going. George doesn’t even know why they’re doing so poorly, but they are. People are dying, so, so often. There were more explosives. There were charred limbs and disgusting, irreparable burn wounds marring skin. People George came to know, peripherally, limped into the tent before dying to the melody of sobs, screams, and explosions. Despite the blue sky, the ground is being painted red.</p>
<p>George wants to run after Dream, but one thing he’s learned is this: the ocean is vast. Every wave, each bay, every deep ravine and reaching sea cavern is gigantic. The ocean is vast, and far more important than a single drop of water, even if that drop is George’s lifeline.</p>
<p>It hurts, but George can’t go after Dream because, despite his pain, they’re losing the war because of Dream and by extent George, and he has to help.</p>
<p>Without Dream though, he just doesn’t know how.</p>
<p>The soldiers feel hopeless without their hero. They feel like they’re fighting a battle destined to end in hellish bloodshed and loss; without Dream, they barely seem like they’re trying.</p>
<p>Grasping, searching his mind frantically, his eyes flit about the tent.</p>
<p>He makes eye contact with two beads of black, framed against white porcelain and held above a dark, curving smile. The reminder of what he’s losing stabs a knife deep into his chest. Dream is so deeply tied to that smile, that George could never hope to separate it.</p>
<p>And it hits him, like an arrow from the darkness.</p>
<p>The soldiers are hardly fighting because they feel hopeless without Dream, but to so many people, Dream is just a mask and hood, two diamond axes and godlike fighting.</p>
<p>George may not be quite as godly as Dream, but he knows how to fight, and here lies Dream’s mask, sitting not too far from his perfectly polished axes. George knows how to fight with them, has practised it all, and this plan might actually work.</p>
<p>It’s a stretch, but George can’t handle another battle like this.</p>
<p>He has to try something. There’s just no other choice.</p>
<p>Picking up the smooth mask, he settles it on. It’s a bit heavy and a bit strange to see through, but it feels like stardust and ocean waves. It feels like safety. It feels like maybe, just maybe, it’s their savior.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ground is cool under his legs where he sits, staring over the edge of the North Cliff. Below him, the water kisses the coast in a tantalizing dance, a swaying back and forth, hello and goodbye, again and again and again. Dream thinks about the ender pearls typically in his belt. He doesn’t have them now. All he has are his clothes, his old clothes, worn and comforting, and the wind at his back. He doesn’t deserve the insistent breeze swirling around him, offering comfort and support that he still refuses to accept. Dream could slip and fall, and maybe, finally, he could open himself back up to the universe.</p>
<p>But George was right. The stars probably won’t ever forgive him. He’s not quite sure he wants them to. He’s the one who forced them away but <i>the boy</i>一</p>
<p>Dream had his reasons; he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to forgive them either. He may never be enough, but the stars didn’t have to take it out on the poor, poor boy. He gave the stars his all and it wasn’t enough. He should have been better, but that was <i>him.</i></p>
<p>A sigh crawls out his lungs like something long dead, decomposing yet reanimated in a display of rot and bone.</p>
<p>He’s alone, and it’s his fault.</p>
<p>The lies tasted like cinnamon and salvation while he believed them. They kept him afloat in the turbulent waters of his failures, but they carried him farther out into his sins until he was unsavable. Now, as they dissolve, as Dream catches the bittersweet notes of citrus within the lies, he has no choice but to sink.</p>
<p>The ocean below is familiar, and he yearns for its comfort. He’s terrified, unable or unwilling to open his chest back up to its calming rhythm. He can’t tell, but it doesn’t matter. No, he can’t let the wind or ocean or earth back in, can’t find comfort in his old family. Not when he’s such a fucking failure. Maybe though, just maybe, the ocean will be merciful enough to open themself to him, just once. Just for a brief moment, long enough for the wind to carry him down, for the air to leave his chest. Maybe the ocean will be so kind as to cradle him within their cool depths, just down until he reaches the beating heart of reality, the warm earth, and maybe she’ll be so forgiving as to welcome his broken soul home like a lost son.</p>
<p>The stars may never forgive him, but Dream isn’t asking them to. He just hopes that someday, far in the future, George can take his rightful place among them, and his story will be told among the people as he watches from the terribly wonderful night sky.</p>
<p>He wants to go home, to see his family again, but he can’t.</p>
<p>It’s a tempting future, a peaceful end to a turbulent life, but he can’t.</p>
<p>Not without saying goodbye.</p>
<p>Not without saying he’s sorry.</p>
<p>Just like he doesn’t expect the stars to forgive him, he doesn’t expect George to either. He doesn’t deserve it like he doesn’t deserve the air in his lungs, but he wants to offer it. Maybe not in words, but in one last act of goodwill.</p>
<p>The war is killing George, slowly sapping his strength as he watches everyone die around him一</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s Dream’s fault.</i>
</p>
<p>一but maybe he can help.</p>
<p>He can at least die knowing he tried.</p>
<p>On steady legs, with shaking breath, Dream stands, teetering on the edge of something terrible and beautiful. The cliff drops steeply down under his heels, his toes hanging over empty space.</p>
<p>For a moment Dream is hit by the debilitating realization that, somehow, he’s in the eye of the storm.</p>
<p>“I’ll be with you soon,” he murmurs to the universe before turning his back on the tranquil, restless jostling of the ocean.</p>
<p>His feet meet the ground and in his wake, a trail of bright red spider lilies and startling proteas bloom from the earth unnoticed. In their petals, they hold the cycle of life一 they pave the path of the phoenix.</p>
<p>Dream has a war to end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><i>“Dream?”</i> Sapnap shouts upon seeing him, rushing to his side.</p>
<p>George hoped to avoid the other. Sapnap would see through his guise, he knows, and he can’t let it get out that he isn’t Dream because一 well.</p>
<p>Because it’s working.</p>
<p>Word spread quickly as he rode into the battlefield, dismounting in with a flourish and entering the fight, axes gleaming in the bright sun. Seeing through the mask was odd at first, but he adjusted. As he knocked down enemy soldier after enemy soldier一 <i>not fatally, never fatally,</i>一 the people around him started pushing. He watched as the light returned to their eyes, he watched as the hope flooded their features and fire lit their hearts. They’re losing, but they’re fighting, and that’s what matters. They’re pushing back against L’Manburg and it’s <i>working</i>, and George is fighting harder than he’s ever fought in his life, other than maybe the fight against the Ender Dragon and her hordes of endermen. He’s sweating under Dream’s signature coat, and the extra axe on his back is heavy, but the earth seems to springload his steps, the wind sends him rushing forward with an extra vigor he’s never before possessed. </p>
<p>George, for a brief dash of time, understands what it’s like to be Dream, what it’s like to be a god. The sun blazes above him, casting the world in shades of decadent gold, and George knows that it’s the gods puppeting his movements, sculpting him into something holy, if only for a moment.</p>
<p>Sapnap freezes midstep, yet the fighting goes on around them. It feels like they’re in the center of a tornado一 quiet, in all of the bloodshed. George can see the moment that Sapnap realizes that it’s not Dream, that it’s him, and icy dread takes hold.</p>
<p>
  <i>Don’t ruin this, Sapnap. Please, please play along.</i>
</p>
<p>“You’re the biggest fucking dumbass I’ve ever met,” he growls after a moment, and their bubble pops. A L’Manburgian soldier lunges at Sapnap’s back.</p>
<p>“Duck!” He shouts to his friend, and the other ducks just in time. George’s axe flies over Sapnap’s head to meet the sword in a sonorous clang, which is quickly followed by an unevenly matched fight.</p>
<p>It ends quickly, but the fighting does not.</p>
<p>A sword lands against his shield, barely brought up in time to protect his dominant arm. Sapnap shoots him a glare.</p>
<p>“Be more careful or I’m dragging you off the field by your ear,” he grunts, shoving his sword through the abdomen of a particularly vicious foe. </p>
<p>George snorts, knocking the person’s next sword swing away with Dream’s axe. A kick to their stomach sends them tumbling away, into the throngs of fighting people surrounding them.</p>
<p>“I’m not some helpless, damsel, Sapnap. I can hold my own.” Almost as if to prove his point, an arrow flies through the air at George, and he deftly blocks it with his shield. The dull thunk punctuates his words with a finality he didn’t know he was capable of, and Sapnap nods at him.</p>
<p>“Just be careful, G一” He stops himself with a cough, parrying one of the opponents. In a brief moment of rest, the general sighs. “Just be careful.”</p>
<p>George smiles. “You too, Sap.”</p>
<p>It’s another few minutes before he finds his next big problem.</p>
<p>
  <i>Tommy.</i>
</p>
<p>“Dream! Long time no see, buddy,” he proclaims, boisterous, and George had been hoping to avoid the other.</p>
<p>To a field full of soldiers that have only fought besides or against Dream peripherally, the axes and the mask are enough to be convincing. To someone who’s fought him a great deal, who’s talked back and forth with him, who’s been studying his fighting style, George’s charade might not make the cut.</p>
<p>But that sort of failure isn’t an option.</p>
<p>For every hour that Tommy’s spent studying Dream, George has spent a day. George knows Dream’s every curve and every quirk, and he can do this. Sure, he may be a deal shorter than the hero, but so long as George stays purposefully low, doesn’t speak and keeps the other busy, he can keep Tommy from thinking about it.</p>
<p>Knees bent into a fighting stance, he lowers himself and takes a deep breath. Beside him, Sapnap worriedly starts, “G- Dream,” and the name is a warning, but what else is George to do except confront Tommy. He flicks his head away, and Sapnap glares at him. A moment of silent eye contact passes before Sapnap finally breaks. <i>“Stay safe,”</i> he growls, before slipping off into the fighting. George can still see him一 it’s definitely purposeful, so that he’s within Sapnap’s sight, and George is thankful for it. Even if this war has taken almost everything from him, it’s given him Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity, and George is thankful for that, despite everything.</p>
<p>“So today’s a no talking sort of day,” the teenager jeers, and he can see how the tone would get on Dream’s nerves. George knows that the blond has days where he’d prefer to be silent, where words are simply more work than they’re worth. Yet under his taunts, George can see that Tommy is just deflecting his fear. He’s fighting Dream because that’s what he’s expected to do.</p>
<p>He’s just a kid in a war, and there’s nothing he or any of them can do about it.</p>
<p>Tommy lowers into a fighting stance and starts circling George. George responds by circling back, trying to pick out his best course of action.</p>
<p>“You know, I really hoped you’d be in a talking mood after all this time,” Tommy continues. “Let’s catch up, chat!”</p>
<p>George makes the first move, a viper-quick strike with his axe on his right. The weapon connects with Tommy’s shield with a heavy, dull thud, and Tommy’s sword is falling towards his head lightning fast. George could bring his axe up but that would leave his midsection open. He can’t bring his axe up faster than Tommy’s sword either, so that just leaves one option. George drops down low, kicking his left foot out to collide with Tommy’s back-most ankle. He slows his fall backwards with the hand holding the axe before letting his back and neck hit the ground. Fluidly, he pushes up with his right root, sending him somersaulting backwards and onto his feet.</p>
<p>The move leaves Tommy unbalanced for a second, enough time for George to get another swing in with his axe as he rises to standing. The blond hurries to block the incoming attack with his sword, and George uses the opportunity to hook the axe blade over Tommy’s sword, yanking the weapon down and slamming his shield forwards.</p>
<p>The wood connects heavily with Tommy’s shoulder, forcing him to stumble back a few steps. Even so, as he does he spins away, freeing his sword before launching in to attack.</p>
<p>“Not bad, old man,” Tommy grins as George barely blocks his violent strike. Without a moment’s hesitation, Tommy’s sword lands again, this time with George blocking it solidly. The barrage continues, pushing George backwards. “I thought you’d be a little rusty after you vacation,” he sings, and it grates on George’s skin, crawls through his bones like anger. What they’re going through now is hell, the Nether all over again, but this time it’s ripping them apart at their seams and Tommy has the gall to belittle it like this.</p>
<p>Instead of blocking Tommy’s next swing with his shield, he knocks it off its path with his axe, the dark clang of the weapons a physical manifestation of his anger.</p>
<p>He slams the axe head into Tommy’s shield, splintering it and rendering it useless for a moment. George then ducks under a hasty swipe of the other’s sword and it flies to the right over his head. It leaves Tommy’s side open, and George lunges into it. His shoulder rams into the teen’s ribcage, sending them both to the ground. George rolls gracefully out of it, leaving Tommy to land hard on the muddy earth. The blond scrambles to get up, but he’s not able to get fully protected fast enough. When George swings his axe at the other, Tommy barely raises his shield in time; the force of the hit sends the teen reeling, just off-balance.</p>
<p>At the same moment, George shucks the shield off of his arm and onto his back. It’s a smooth move, practiced, and in the same breath he’s already pulling the second axe out of its holster.</p>
<p>Then, George is swinging both axes, one after the next, a torrent, a terrible storm, a star exploding out. One axe lands heavily on Tommy’s shield. He frantically brings his sword up to meet the next swing, but it’s not stable enough. The axe pushes the sword back to his body, nicking his shoulder and drawing a little blood.</p>
<p>It doesn’t seem to deter the blond.</p>
<p>Instead, it pushes him to go farther.</p>
<p>Tommy kicks out at his knee, and he doesn’t move out of the way fast enough. The hit lands and it doesn’t break him, not even close, but it does hurt like a bitch. George moves back a few feet, letting his advantage fall.</p>
<p>An arrow whizzes past, and only by the grace of the gods does he duck out of the way.</p>
<p>Next thing he knows, Tommy’s sword is plummeting through the air towards him like the blade of a guillotine.</p>
<p>It’s not enough.</p>
<p>With a speed he shouldn’t be capable of, he throws his weight forward on instinct. His left axe meets the blade and the earth shakes with it.</p>
<p>Time seems to slow, and for a moment, George is forced to take in the world as it spins around him.</p>
<p>The sky is blue, but there are clouds as black as void just to the right, cracking with unheard lightning and death. The ground is brown with wilted grass and mud, and it looks the same color as blood.</p>
<p>Everywhere, there’s screaming, and George hates it.</p>
<p>But he’s doing this for his friends. For his <i>family,</i> because George would be lying if he called them anything else. For Karl and Quackity, who laughed with him when he thought nothing could cheer him up, for Sapnap, who let him know that the world was bigger than just Dream.</p>
<p>He’s doing this for Dream too, though.</p>
<p>Dream, whose head was so clouded by the stress of war and death and decision that he shattered and became a broken shell of who he once was.</p>
<p>Dream, who very well could die because of it.</p>
<p>George is fighting for them all, to end something terrible and bring blood-soaked peace.</p>
<p>The force of their weapons meeting stops the momentum of both of their swings, and, raised between them, dripping blood and glittering like something sacred in the sun, their weapons stay.</p>
<p>In his moment of clarity, George can see it perfectly.</p>
<p>Tommy’s shield is behind him. His body is twisted just so, so that his stomach and chest are open perfectly to an attack from George’s right axe. He wouldn’t be able to get the shield up in time. The angle of the swing would send the sharp, shimmering axe directly into the teen’s stomach, knocking into some ribs on the way. It would be fatal.</p>
<p>George’s arm moves, like lighting striking out for earth, and the right axe is swinging directly towards the unprotected area.</p>
<p>The sky above them is blue, the same color as Tommy’s eyes. They’re wide, and George watches realization and cold terror and panic fill them.</p>
<p>Tommy is just a kid.</p>
<p>He’s just as much a victim of this war as any of them.</p>
<p>Redirecting lightning, George learns, is near undoable.</p>
<p>Yet, as everything is, it’s not quite impossible.</p>
<p>The weapon twists and angles in mid air, and the back of it hits the other’s soft side. Bruisingly painful, but not even a drop of blood falls. It forces George’s left axe to slip though, unlocking from Tommy’s sword and George stumbles forwards, to his right.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s okay, he can just roll and stand on the other si一</i>
</p>
<p>His momentum forward stops abruptly, and <i>that’s</i> when he feels the fire.</p>
<p>Thunder splits the air distantly, and George can hear the wind like it’s gasping.</p>
<p>There’s molten lava in his left side, spreading tendrils of painful heat, and he can almost taste the ash of the Nether on his tongue.</p>
<p>There’s pain in his left side.</p>
<p>His left side that, as he fell to his right, passed Tommy, while completely unguarded.</p>
<p>The ground is at his chest now, and there’s drying mud catching at his jaw under where the mask presses painfully into his cheek.</p>
<p>There’s screaming, but he thinks it’s a lot closer now.</p>
<p>A drop of rain hits his neck, and it’s nice. Paired with the wind, worriedly whipping around him, working up a gale, he feels safe.</p>
<p>Because yes, he knows that there’s a sword in his side. It’s catching up with him and he can’t help the whine that crawls out of his chest like something long dead, broken in decay, and it hurts.</p>
<p>It really, really hurts.</p>
<p>But he likes the wind. He’s missed it, from when it was a constant companion on his and Dream’s travels. He missed the universe’s attention on them, because while they may have been closer to Dream, they became a piece of George’s family too. When Dream pushed them away, he did his best to stay in contact, but it was difficult.</p>
<p>It’s okay though, because they’re here now.</p>
<p>The sky is so devastatingly dark.</p>
<p>It’s raining a lot harder, too.</p>
<p>On shaking limbs, he pushes himself up, feeling the sword in his stomach scrape against his flesh with every inch. When he’s finally up, he closes his eyes and faces the sky. The water is a barrage against the mask, and the wind is <i>howling.</i></p>
<p>George takes a deep breath and says hello.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy is a big man. He’s capable, mature for his age and more skilled than anyone else in L’Manburg. He’s killed before, for his country, and he’d do it again.</p>
<p>His sword is buried deep in the side of a hero, a man who was once his idol, and he’s <i>terrified.</i></p>
<p>Everything about this feels wrong. He was never supposed to kill Dream. He was supposed to keep the other occupied, keep him busy so that he wasn’t harassing their side.</p>
<p>Tommy had realized a beat too late though that he was about to die, that Dream had the perfect opportunity to slide his axe deep into his skin and end things for good. Dream had the option to write him out of the narrative and Tommy was sure he was going to take it. The fear that ate him alive was fire and ice, and it made him irrational.</p>
<p>And then he didn’t die, but the panic and fear and everything bad growing in him didn’t go away and he <i>saw</i> it, he saw the opening and in an act of pure terror, he felt his sword slide gracelessly through skin and muscle, just right of Dream’s stomach.</p>
<p>There are clouds in the sky, dark and angry, and Tommy watches as they eat the sun whole.</p>
<p>Reality catches up to him with the rain, beating the earth in what can only be described as vitriol.</p>
<p>Reality catches up to Tommy with the wind, slicing through the air, whistling and screaming in what he can only place as panic.</p>
<p>Reality catches up to Tommy when the whine breaks out of his opponents throat, and he realizes, somewhere desperate, that he didn’t want to kill Dream.</p>
<p>No, he didn’t want to kill Dream.</p>
<p>He wanted to kill George even less, though.</p>
<p>There are forests off to one side of the field that they fight on, and the tree branches are covered in darkening leaves, oranges and browns and reds that scream the coming of winter. In the wind, they smack violently against each other, clacking and clattering in a cacophony of disastrous chaos. Alighting from the forest is a mass of birds, dark and swarming, shrill calls filling the sky; intermingled within their mass are leaves, torn from their homes early.</p>
<p>A few moments ago, the sky was blue. A storm was approaching, sure, but it should’ve been an hour, at least.</p>
<p>Tommy watches his opponent sit up, propping their weight up on wrists that are thinner than Dream’s, tilting a paler jaw up to the skies as they break in sheets of hellish rain.</p>
<p>“W-what the fuck,” Tommy breathes, shaking.</p>
<p>George’s chin tilts down, and Tommy can see the strain in his jaw.</p>
<p>He shakes his head. No, this can’t be happening. Dream and George are strong, they’re heroes, and sure they’re evil pieces of shit but they’re strong enough to level the world, Tommy shouldn’t be able to kill George.</p>
<p>“Get up,” he says, as though George might hear him and stand and maybe laugh. Maybe he’ll pull a healing pot that Tommy can’t see off of his belt and pull the sword out and chug the potion, maybe he’ll drop into a fighting stance that says, <i>you can’t kill me that easily,</i> and they’ll keep fighting because he didn’t just kill <i>the</i> George of Fondon, savior of the world, the chosen one’s right hand. “What are you doing, g-get up,” he repeats, and the world is shattering on his tongue, voice cracking like the lighting lighting up the sky. The mud seems to suck at his heels, and he feels like he’s sinking.</p>
<p>Something has shifted in the battle.</p>
<p>Everyone is on edge, and rightfully so.</p>
<p>The sky at the horizon starts to light up, starts to grow hazy. The world looks like it’s caught on fire. His fear is a real, physical thing, held in the crack of his shield and the blood soaking his clothes.</p>
<p>“‘Can’t,” his opponent murmurs, and it’s not Dream.</p>
<p>A sob rips out of his throat.</p>
<p>“What the <i>fuck,</i> get up,” he says, shaking apart at the seams and he doesn’t know what’s happening. This isn’t supposed to be happening. <i>What the fuck?</i></p>
<p>“End th-this, Tommy,” George grinds out, and for a moment he thinks George is asking him to finish killing him. He chokes on the bile rising in his throat. “End th-the—” a cough— “war. It’s just- just death.”</p>
<p>That’s when the mushrooms start to grow.</p>
<p>Tommy has heard the myths, that Dream was chosen by the stars, by gods, to save the world. He’s never believed it, at least not the specific part that it was the ancient pantheon of the natural world. No, the stars and earth and ocean as gods was just the belief of the old societies. They’re fake. They’ve always been fake.</p>
<p>But mushrooms are growing from the mud of the battlefield in rapid waves, originating around one crippled form.</p>
<p>They’re the red type, with white spots, but the red is dark, a deep crimson that’s almost black and it looks like blood, like the field is rejecting all of the death that they’ve shed on its surface.</p>
<p>The mushrooms directly around George grow large, reaching almost a foot off the ground, and they cast shadows in the dusty orange light that shadow the body, like they could hide him away to where it’s safe. Farther away, they’re just normal mushrooms, and many people don’t even notice them.</p>
<p>Tommy watches as they’re trampled under foot; he watches as they’re crushed, and he watches as they grow back, just as fast.</p>
<p>When he looks back at George, his breath is stolen. From the blood soaking his clothes around the wound in his side grows more mushrooms. Unlike those that grew on the earth, these don’t have any white.</p>
<p>Their stems are black, and the caps are pure red一 bloody, dripping, viscous red, glistening in the low light and rain.</p>
<p>Everything is so, so soaked.</p>
<p>“What happened to him?” Tommy hears from his right, and he looks to see one of the Traedor Generals that was with George before this. “What the fuck happened to you, George?” He asks again, barely sparing him a glance as he drops to his knees in the mud directly next to George.</p>
<p>“‘S okay, Sap,” George groans, and he sounds very far from okay.</p>
<p>“I told you to stay safe,” the general says, worry breaking his voice into a sob, and he sounds scared. Tommy watches, speechless, as he wraps an arm around George’s shoulder. The hero leans against him heavily, and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. Around them, the wind rages and twists in time and Tommy realizes something.</p>
<p>When he looks at his bloody hands, there are mushrooms growing on them.</p>
<p>Tommy realizes that the gods are real, and they’re angry.</p>
<p>Tommy realizes that George is dying, and he’s the reason why.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George tries to smile when he hears Sapnap’s familiar voice. There’s so much of everything happening around him, and it’s overwhelming. Sapnap is grounding though. Sapnap is safe.</p>
<p>
  <i>It hurts.</i>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” George manages, and the smile he gives is weak, he knows, but it’s a smile nonetheless.</p>
<p>The edges of the mask cut into his vision, reminding him of its presence. Carefully, shakily, he reaches up to pull it off. He can’t let people see this and think Dream, their hero, was bested. Not when the tide is just turning.</p>
<p>“Ender, George! It’s not your fault, come on,” Sapnap replies, voice wavering and watery. Around them, the rain comes down in raging sheets, but directly above them it’s soft, shaky and inconsistent. “You’re gonna- you’re gonna be okay,” Sap continues, “We’re gonna get you help.”</p>
<p>He can tell that Sapnap is crying, and the last thing he wants is to hurt someone else. George pulls in a breath, and it’s not quite deep一 it hurts一 but it’s a breath and it’s steadying, just like the mushrooms around him.</p>
<p>It reminds him of home.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think there are supposed to be mushrooms here but they feel like comfort and warmth, and George isn’t going to complain.</p>
<p>Clearing the haze of pain from his mind is difficult, but after years of practice he’s able to. It’s with the intent to reassure Sapnap that he mentally scans his body. Surely, he can place what sort of wound he has, and explain to the younger that it only looks bad, or that stitches and bed recovery will do just fine, but一</p>
<p>George has a sword through his side, just right of his stomach, and he thinks it’s gone clean through.</p>
<p>When a soldier comes into the med tents like that, George sends a prayer to the stars to be kind, to give them a painless death, and does everything he can to save them.</p>
<p>They all die.</p>
<p>Despite everything, he laughs.</p>
<p>It hurts, it hurts like lava in his veins and he can’t handle it, can’t keep the panic out, because—</p>
<p>Because George is dying.</p>
<p>He’s been stabbed through the stomach and he’s going to die.</p>
<p>He doesn’t want to die.</p>
<p>When he looks down, blood smears across the porcelain mask where he holds it in his hands, highlighting a hairline fracture branching in from it’s edge. Where the blood is thickest, just above his left thumb, he watches in fascination as a mushroom, dark and small, almost pretty, grows like a flower. George looks around, really looks around, and through the haze of burning pain and panic and all of the grey rain, George can see mushrooms everywhere.</p>
<p>They grow tall around him, thick, creating a bed around where he sits. The ones growing from the earth are Fly Agarics, bright red he knows. There are broken ones around where Sapnap kneels, and they’ve begun growing around him as well now. They’re pretty. They fan out around them, growing thinner, shining in the rain like shattered glass, until they thin out and get lost between the raging soldiers.</p>
<p>When he looks down at himself, he goes light headed. His entire stomach is soaked in a deep, muddy brown, and there’s a sword, glimmering in the rain, sticking directly out of him. Where it goes in, a thick patch of the dark mushrooms grow, clumping around the wound. He thinks that they might be helping to stop the bleeding. They might just be growing in his natural decay though. Mushrooms are like that, he supposes. Farther out from the wound, the mushrooms grow small, covering his shirt in tiny, beautiful things. George reaches for the earth in thanks for the gift. He may not have his star with him, but at least he has the rest of the universe.</p>
<p>George can’t help but feel like they all pale in comparison.</p>
<p>“Come on, George,” Sapnap urges, and George gets the feeling that he may have said more before that. When he looks up at the sky again, there are birds swarming in the wind. It reminds him of the day he met Dream. It reminds him so deeply of it, and it stings. He remembers the last thing he said to him, to his golden, star dust boy.</p>
<p>George hopes, beyond belief, that the stars forgive Dream. He’s already lost so much. He deserves to have his family back.</p>
<p>
  <i>He doesn’t want to die—</i>
</p>
<p>“I’m gonna pick you up, okay Georgie?” Sap says, voice shaking like a leaf in the gale, and George manages to nod for him.</p>
<p>Sapnap is careful in his movements but it’s not enough. Pain lances out from the wound at the movement, white-hot and sharp and dull and everything terrible in the world, stinging and numb and sour like acid or bile, and George bites his cheek to keep from screaming. Even still, a broken sound wrenches out of his mouth and it sounds like the universe is shattering around them. His vision whites out.</p>
<p>When the world comes back into focus, George realizes that they’re getting farther from the center of fighting, moving quickly yet smoothly through the chaos. The axes are hidden, as is the mask, and George is mostly covered by Sapnap’s cape. The rain is intense on his skin, no longer singling them out to the world. Birds swarm in a dark cloud overhead, but they swarm over everyone else too. As they pass by the fighting, it feels like the rain and wind obscure them, separating them from everyone else. Even still, George can see the soldiers fighting a bloody battle for their lives. It’s far more intense than it was; the soldiers are driven by the fear and tension and anguish in the air, and George imagines that this is what the color red really looks like.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna kill that kid,” Sapnap murmurs as they go, almost to himself. His voice is broken, a sob and a scream and a whisper all in one, and it hurts George almost as much as the wound in his stomach.</p>
<p>“P-please don’t,” George manages, barely a whisper, but by the grace of the wind Sapnap must hear it above the din of battle going tinny in his ears. “He’s just a,” A cough breaks out, jarring the wound, sending another spike of numbing ice and lava through his chest and down his limbs. “A kid.”</p>
<p>Sapnap must see something in his flickering eyes, because he just nods.</p>
<p>Keeping his eyes open is difficult, and once he conveys his point, he doesn’t really see the point in keeping them open.</p>
<p>A sob bubbles up his throat, and it’s so hard to breathe.</p>
<p>George is dying.</p>
<p>
  <i>He doesn’t want to die.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His entire world is fear, fear and regret because this isn’t how it was supposed to end. He can’t breathe and he’s not supposed to die here but here he is, pulse fluttering out, blood breeding dark, beautiful mushrooms, and he’s going to die.</p>
<p>He’s going to die, and all he can think of is Dream.</p>
<p>His warm skin, dusted in nutmeg and stars.</p>
<p>His eyes, perfectly unique and filled with light and joy and depth that George has explored. He wanted to explore <i>more</i>.</p>
<p>He’s not done here.</p>
<p>He’s not ready to die.</p>
<p>
  <i>He’s not ready to die.</i>
</p>
<p>His lips, softer than clouds and so forgiving.</p>
<p>His jaw, stubborn and insistent.</p>
<p>Dream is so <i>stubborn.</i> Why didn’t he just talk to him?</p>
<p>George doesn’t want to die.</p>
<p>
  <i>It hurts it hurts it hurts—</i>
</p>
<p>George doesn’t want to die, but as the blood leaks from his body, as the life drips out of him to grow mushrooms in their wake, as he dies, simply and truly and beautifully, surrounded by the universe wailing their dissent and screaming their objections and clawing their anguish into the fabric of reality, he realizes that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.</p>
<p>George doesn’t want to die, but he is. He’s dying, and there’s not a thing he can do to stop it.</p>
<p>As his consciousness flickers, he hopes that Dream will forgive the stars, hopes that they forgive him back. He hopes Dream will heal and grow and blossom into the peace he was always meant to have, hopes beyond imagination that Dream will be allowed the happiness that was always ripped so mercilessly from his grasp.</p>
<p>George finally lets his eyes slide closed.</p>
<p>He doesn’t want to die, but he’s glad it’s for Dream.</p>
<p>It must be written among the stars; George was meant to die for Dream, and despite how terrible it feels, it almost feels right.</p>
<p>In the darkness of his own mind, he breathes. He hopes, above all else, that Dream forgives him too.</p>
<p>From nothing we blossom, and to nothing we always return.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream has to make a plan. If he just runs into battle again, there’ll be nothing but more bloodshed. To end this, he needs the discs. He can use them as leverage, over both Tommy <i>and</i> Techno.</p>
<p>He paces his tent. It’s still too empty, it still hurts. It’s his fault; there’s pain in admitting it, but the honesty feels like the burning chill of snow after months of overheating. He hates it, yet adores the relief. He can’t get enough of the pain.</p>
<p>The tent starts to go dark, and the air goes thick with an approaching storm. Dream breathes it in and it tastes sour. Only a moment later, the rain starts to fall. The onslaught is accompanied by an ache in his chest, and almost physical manifestation of his regret. Distantly, he feels a sucking anxiety fill his chest. Something feels off, but everything has been so off that he can’t tell what.</p>
<p>He brushes the thought away, lets the storm wash it out as it drowns out the screams of battle.</p>
<p>Dream needs a plan for this to work, and he can’t let all of his mistakes cloud his judgement.</p>
<p>Stealing the discs is something he has to do directly before he needs them. If he takes them too early, Techno will notice that they’re gone. It has to be soon though. If it’s not soon, Techno could act before he can do anything. Then, his chance is gone.</p>
<p>The rain beats down on the top of his tent as he thinks, wearing the ground smooth where he’s pacing. Plans fly through his head and he picks pieces and throws them away and thinks through every option, all while the stupid anxiety in his stomach grows like a fungus and starts choking at his lungs. It’s frustrating beyond belief. He can feel his pulse spiking, and it makes him want to break something. Why is he panicking? What the hell is wrong?</p>
<p>Dream is just about ready to punch his cot when he hears it amidst the storm that’s grown to a horrendous crescendo outside. Footsteps, rapidly approaching.</p>
<p>“Dream! Dream you piece of shit!” A voice calls, quickly growing louder. The entrance to his tent is torn open to reveal Sapnap, and he looks terrible.</p>
<p>The panic and anger in his chest flatlines, a raging sea turning to ice, because this wasn’t his own anxiety, was it?</p>
<p>Something is wrong.</p>
<p>Something is really, really wrong.</p>
<p>It hits him then that he’s not wearing his mask. His face is bare, displaying all of his scars, revealing every secret he holds in his eyes. It hits him because he sees it, smeared in something dark, dripping wet, in Sapnap’s hand.</p>
<p>Something is wrong.</p>
<p>“Sapnap—” he starts, and despite his best efforts, his panic bleeds into the confusion lacing the words.</p>
<p>“You piece of <i>gods damned shit,</i>” his friend breathes, and he’s seething, doubled over and gasping for air.</p>
<p>“What’s going on, Sapnap,” he tries, but the glare he’s shot is nothing short of deadly. His jaw snaps shut, teeth audibly clicking.</p>
<p>Past Sapnap, outside the tent, the rain is pouring down in sheets almost too thick to see through. The sky is a deep reddish orange under the layer of pitch black clouds. Lightning dances through them like blood in water, lighting them up to a terrible yellow-grey.</p>
<p>Why does Sapnap have his mask?</p>
<p>The other is soaked to the bone, and a dark, terrible stain covers his front. His hair is plastered to his forehead and there’s something close to hatred in his eyes.</p>
<p>Lighting strikes down, and he can feel the electricity drip along his skin.</p>
<p>“George is in the med tents, dying, because of you, Dream.”</p>
<p>Then the thunder hits.</p>
<p>It shakes the world like an earthquake, and Dream freezes.</p>
<p>
  <i>What?</i>
</p>
<p>There’s something to be said about how time is far less linear than it would lead reality to believe. It sways in and out of rhythm like a playful child, pushing through carefully cradled highs and stopping at the world’s lowest lows.</p>
<p>Right now, time stops.</p>
<p>Dream can see the individual raindrops as they hang, motionless, in the air. His breath is halted, all movement carved into stone. It’s just a moment, but it’s stretched, grotesquely, unnatural and forsaken, into something profane. It coats Dream’s skin in a layer of thick slime and frost, mud caked sludge or sweat and ash.</p>
<p>
  <i>George—</i>
</p>
<p>He feels the sword go through his stomach as he watches it unfold, real-time, on the backs of his eyelids. It’s just a blink, but Dream feels every moment. He feels the way the world grows tense as George fights Tommy, pretending to be Dream. He sees the moment George swings his axe— Dream’s axe— at Tommy’s side, a movement driven by an instinct born of years of fighting for survival, built on fear and desperation.</p>
<p>And yet—</p>
<p>Dream watches George change course, last second; he watches as George spares Tommy’s life.</p>
<p>And he watches as the blade slides harshly into George’s side as he falls. He watches as it’s rammed through muscle as it catches and pushes. George breaks with it, hanging motionless in the air for a single, hellish second, before falling.</p>
<p>George doesn’t scream.</p>
<p>The universe <i>howls</i>, pain and silence and Dream can hear every voice of every star, shattering and breaking and bursting outwards in bellowing, breaking death and it’s terrible, it’s terrible, what is this, he can’t <i>breathe</i>—</p>
<p>His eyes open, and the rain lands.</p>
<p>Terror, he realizes, is an emotion he’s never before felt.</p>
<p>It’s like every single bone in his body has been shattered, and his skin is peeling up inch by burning inch, and there’s salt water in his bleeding hands and filling his petrified lungs. It’s like nails are being driven into his ear drums and the sound of the storm turns to a shrill, high tone grating against his skull. His heart is frozen but his pulse is skyrocketing, and every inch of his soul bursts into shredded, bloody shrapnel.</p>
<p>A noise rips out of his throat, and it’s everything evil in the world coming to light. It’s a sound so wretched and horrendous; it’s pain incarnate, and Dream doesn’t know what to <i>do</i>.</p>
<p>There’s a hand on his shoulder, and all of the sudden he’s looking into now familiar grey eyes. They’re smoldering in anger and anguish and Dream <i>aches.</i></p>
<p>Something black with hate sprouts in the ruined palace of his chest, and Sapnap searches his eyes.</p>
<p>“End this, Dream,” Sapnap begs, and there’s something so broken about the world if so much pain can be held within three, shaking words.</p>
<p>The General holds out his hand. His axe holster and mask hang from his grip, and Dream shakes. There’s blood on all of it, and Dream realizes that he fell apart at his seams a long, long time ago.</p>
<p>He takes them.</p>
<p>They’re heavy in his hands, and he knows he just took back far more than just his weapons and mask.</p>
<p>The rage blossoms, and hidden among the black petals is a racing, disastrous drive.</p>
<p>Calm seeps in, and he’s always had a monster in his chest but this time he lets it settle in and stay. All he can feel is deadly vitriol, an ocean gone perfectly still, and the world will learn what happens when it takes away what the gods hold dear.</p>
<p>Dream clips the mask onto his belt, dropping the axes carelessly onto his cot, and he pulls George’s diamond sword from the wall.</p>
<p>George sacrificed—</p>
<p>George fought desperately as Dream to rally their soldiers. Dream isn’t going to be the one to ruin that, his fucking face be damned. It’s more important than just him.</p>
<p>“Dream?” Sapnap asks, and if he wanted to, he could place the emotion in the other’s voice, but there’s no need.</p>
<p>His eyes land on the healing potion, still cradled on George’s cot. Reverently, he picks it up, holding it out to his friend.</p>
<p>“Get this to George.”</p>
<p>Then, Dream walks out into the rain, and lets the world consume him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a violent thrum in his pulse as he pushes through the throngs of terrified, fighting people. Everytime a L’Manburg soldier tries to fight him, he pushes past in a terrifying, brutal display. He’s shattered stars; he’s lightning personified.</p>
<p>He cannot be stopped, cannot be redirected. Nothing is in his way.</p>
<p>Dream finds Tommy quickly, and he can feel the ice-calm hatred in his chest explode. </p>
<p>The wind whips through the air, carrying rain in a whirlwind around him, and the discs hang heavy in a pouch at his hip.</p>
<p>As he approaches, he sees Tommy fighting off two Traedor soldiers. Mud and blood coat everything. The world is a new sort of hell, and Dream is about to make it worse.</p>
<p>One of the soldiers, a younger girl that Dream almost recognizes, swings a sword down towards Tommy’s head. Before Tommy can react, Dream is there, knocking the sword away with his own and slamming it into Tommy’s shield.</p>
<p>“What the fuck?” He hears the blond say, and it grates on something so deeply ingrained in his psyche that he wants to rip his throat out just to make him shut up.</p>
<p>Something about the chaos he holds must show, because the two soldiers scatter in fear.</p>
<p>He could care less— he’s already bringing the sharp diamond down in another two handed swing, aiming for Tommy’s right arm. It’s blocked by a matching diamond sword, and Dream grits his teeth. He follows swing after swing, backing Tommy up as he pours his rage out through his attacks.</p>
<p>Tommy did this.</p>
<p>George spared Tommy’s life, and Tommy fucking ki—</p>
<p>His sword is blocked by the boy’s shield, and then he’s pushing away, putting a gap between them.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck are you?” Tommy asks, and somehow, Dream can hear how uncertain he sounds. He sounds tired.</p>
<p>Dream is so, so tired.</p>
<p>With a sneer, he opens his mouth.</p>
<p>Above him, a cloud of birds starts to collect, and they dive down around them. The rain sticks his hair to his forehead. The mud of the earth hardens under his feet.</p>
<p>“Hello, Tommy.”</p>
<p>Recognition is quickly followed by fear.</p>
<p>Tommy thinks Dream is about to kill him, and part of him <i>wants to.</i></p>
<p>He came out here with the intention. An eye for an eye.</p>
<p>But if George spared Tommy—</p>
<p>Dream refuses to undo what the other did.</p>
<p>If George dies, it will not be in vain.</p>
<p>He puts the sword away and pulls out the discs.</p>
<p>“Care to make a deal?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A deal is struck in the downpour. It’s sealed in the blood of those long gone, of those barely still here. Tommy walks away with his discs. And Dream, heralded by thirteen crows fluttering around him like the wind, goes back to searching.</p>
<p>He has a new target.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dream’s never fought Wilbur personally, but the other is recognizable where he fights King Technoblade. The L’Manburg leader is fighting alongside Tommy’s friend, the short brunet, and Dream slips through the throngs of the deadly and the dying towards them.</p>
<p>There’s a sort of unspoken rule in the war, to stay away from the big guys when they fight each other. These battles are almost sacred, the tie breakers and deciders. They’re not to be interrupted, not until one of the parties retreats or falls.</p>
<p>To slam one’s sword into the fray would be unimaginable. To lock blades with the two opponents would be near blasphemous.</p>
<p>But Dream has never been one for false gods and idiotic rules.</p>
<p>Techno dances circles around Wilbur and the other— Tubbo, if he recalls correctly. He sends the shortest stumbling back with a fierce kick to his shield, and Dream sees the perfect moment clearly. Wilbur is swinging downwards from his right, Techno’s sword coming in opposite it, near horizontal. Dream slips out of the nearby fray and into the battle, swinging his sword directly up with the wailing of the wind.</p>
<p>The three blades clash together at once, and something sacred is shredded.</p>
<p>For a moment, the two leaders are still. Then, they step back, a mutual disengagement. Dream grins.</p>
<p>He wanted their attention. He has something he needs to say.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Wilbur asks, incredulous.</p>
<p>Dream turns to Techno, still grinning, loose and violent and full of bone deep hate.</p>
<p>In a different life, Dream thinks he might have been friends with Techno.</p>
<p>“Any guesses?” He asks, and there’s an unlit spark of recognition in Techno’s eyes. Dream pulls the mask out from under his plain coat, tossing it up lazily and catching it easily, clearly showing the crude smile it displays.</p>
<p>“Dream?” Techno cries, and there’s surprise and outrage in his voice, mixing into a cocktail of poison. “The End are you doin’?” The anger in his tone is nothing compared to the sea of vitriol raging in Dream’s chest, and he hopes that it shows in his eyes.</p>
<p>George always told him that it was good that he wore his mask, because if someone saw his eyes they’d know every single thought in his head.</p>
<p>The rain continues to pour. It almost looks like night, if not for the red biting at the bottom of the clouds.</p>
<p>“Pearls, Techno, get your general in line. I heard he was giving you trouble,” Wilbur drawls.</p>
<p>Dream ignores him. “I’m doing what should’ve been done a long, long time ago,” he says, and the rain begins to slow. A violent red beam of sun highlights the falling drops where they break through the cloud cover.</p>
<p>The birds in the sky scream, and scream, and scream.</p>
<p>“Call the retreat.”</p>
<p>Techno stares at him, and for a moment, there’s silence. Then, Wilbur starts laughing.</p>
<p>“Maybe don’t get your general in line,” he says, voice mirthful. “Say, Dream, do you wanna switch—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lightning strikes the ground a few feet away. A bird dives down, close to Wilbur, and a vines wraps solidly around his foot. The single ray of sun hits him, and he falls silent.</p>
<p>“This war is disgusting,” Dream growls. “And it took me losing <i>everything</i> to it to realize. You’re both chicken headed pieces of shit, prancing and preening for each other, and I’m fucking through with it.” The words are spat out like something acidic, and Techno unthinkingly takes a step back. “People are dying, Techno, but you’re too proud. Let L’Manburg break away from Traedor. They’ll rot, and they’ll shatter in on themselves and fall to a hell of their own making, but that’s not your problem. Get your head out of your gods damned ass, and call. The. Retreat.”</p>
<p>Something dark enters Techno’s gaze. “You’re treadin’ on thin ice here, Dream,” he starts, and Dream is over it.</p>
<p>He just wants this to be over.</p>
<p>In a flash as fast as lightning, his sword is out, leveled with the king’s throat, deadly sharp tip resting against vulnerable skin, and Techno freezes.</p>
<p>“Call the retreat Techno. I won’t ask again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Techno opens his mouth and clicks it shut, but before he can decide on what to say, what to do, Wilbur speaks.</p>
<p>“If I knew this was how we win our independence,” he starts with a laugh, “I would’ve threatened George myself!”</p>
<p>And Wilbur raises his sword.</p>
<p>It glitters in the reemerging sun, and in slow motion, Dream watches as he raises it to swing.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a familiar voice sings, and Dream grins.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Tommy?”</i>
</p>
<p>The sheer surprise in Wilbur’s voice is honey after all of his disgusting gloating.</p>
<p>“I’d take the offer graciously, Wil,” the teen says. There’s an apology hidden amongst the warning, Dream can tell, but he’s thankful nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Look around us, Techno,” Dream breathes, and he does.</p>
<p>The sky has lightened to a neutral grey, and while lightning still crackles within it, it’s far, far less frequent. The haze at the edges of the world is dying down to a dusty yellow, and the wind is less violent and more terribly, terribly insistent.</p>
<p>Dream doesn’t like what it means for George.</p>
<p>The people fight on; their screams etch their way into Dream’s chest and he’s not sure how he never saw it before. He truly did almost lose himself.</p>
<p>He’s lost his family, lost his wind and earth and sun and ocean. He lost the stars.</p>
<p>Of course it would be George who places them, one by painstaking one, back into Dream’s night sky.</p>
<p>“Call the retreat. Permanently.”</p>
<p>He needs to go see George, before- before—</p>
<p>The rain stops.</p>
<p>King Technoblade of Traedor calls a mutual retreat in conjunction with Wilbur, the ruler of the to-be-formed nation of L’Manburg.</p>
<p>It’s all over.</p>
<p>Sunlight breaks through the clouds and they disperse into the evening sky.</p>
<p>The war is over.</p>
<p>As Dream sprints to the med tents, desperation and panic incarnate, a trail is left in his wake.</p>
<p>The earth sprouts a trail of bright fly agarics, and he can almost hear the mournful lowing of mooshrooms in the late autumn air.</p>
<p>It can’t end like this, can it?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><i>Some of the happiest endings come when you learn to say goodbye, and yet...</i><br/>Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated &lt;3 thanks so much for taking the time to read this!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Speak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Throw yourself into the unknown</i>
  <br/>
  <i>With pace and a fury defiant</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bonus:<br/><i>Boy you know I think you’re made of string</i><br/><i>All dipped in gold and then laid out</i><br/><i>But just not stretched enough to sing</i></p><p>CW: Corrupted text/confusing formatting throughout the entire chapter<br/>Hi &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Inside the med tent, it’s chaos incarnate. Despite the rain dying and the sky beginning to clear, the birds finding homes once again in their trees, despite the universe falling back into mournful silence, it’s not peaceful. When Dream gets there, still maskless, soaking wet and muddy, there are people running to and fro, shouting orders and carrying various medicines and plants. There are groups of untreated patients waiting out front. Even still, Dream doesn’t see George among them. That’s good he hopes. That means he’s inside, getting stitches and waking up and being okay.</p><p>Dream pushes through the entrance, barely just mindful enough to aVoid those injured.</p><p>Inside, it’s crowded. The dirt underfoot is worn by time and constant back and forth, and every single cot is occupied. He scans them all, but before he can find them he hears a shout amongst the cacophony.</p><p>“Dream!”</p><p>It’s Sapnap, he finds immediately, worriedly walking towards him.</p><p>He doesn’t barrel through anyone to get over, but it’s a near thing.</p><p>“Where is he? How is he? Is he <i>alive</i>—”</p><p>Sapnap shoots him a glare, and he eats his words. A few people around are staring at them, <i>at him</i>, but he can’t begin to care.</p><p>“They’re finishing the stitches, but he’s still out. The medics made me move out of their way, but we should be able to go over in a minute,” Sapnap says, leading them over to a corner so they’re not in anyone’s way.</p><p>Dream wants to argue, wants to run over immediately and hold George’s hand and see if he’s okay, <i>he has to be okay—</i> but he holds his tongue. There’s nothing he can do that the healers can’t do better.</p><p>“Can you explain something to me, man?” Sapnap asks after a moment of silence filled with the loud shouting and clattering of the med tent. The words barely register through the growing anxiety and panic.</p><p>It was a sword, clean through.</p><p>Wind batters the outside of the heavy tent, and Dream longs for the comfort of the gods.</p><p>Mutely, he nods.</p><p>“George never fully explained it, and he mentioned that you’re not really, like, into talking about it anymore, but what the hell happened? With the rain and birds and the— the fuckin’ mushrooms?” Sapnap holds his hand out, and from the side of his first knuckle sits a mushroom. It’s tiny, not even as wide as the other’s hand is thick, with a blackish grey stem and a crimson cap. It shines in the light of the med tent, glistening as though wet. “These grew wherever George’s blood touched. They grew over the stab wound, and kept growing back when the medics tried to brush them out of the way.” A pause splits the sentence as they both stare at the little red mushroom. “What are you and George? What are the gods?”</p><p>What are they?</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Broken.</i>
</p><p>He has to see George.</p><p>“I don’t have time for this Sapnap,” Dream says, and his voice is low and shaky. He has to see George. They’re running out of time—</p><p>“Yeah, we do Dream. We have to wait—” Sapnap starts, but Dream cuts him off.</p><p>“I’m not <i>waiting</i>, Sapnap, I have to see him,” he replies, and it’s a growl dipped in desperation. He probably sounds insane. He doesn’t care.</p><p>The general glares at him. “Come on, it’ll only be a few minutes, let them work. You’re gonna make a scene.”</p><p>Something about that settles wrong in his chest. It dances with the anxiety and panic and he can’t <i>do this</i>, not when George is dying, not when he’s so close but so, so far away, not when they’ve been falling apart, shattering—</p><p>“I don’t <i>fucking care</i>,” he spits, and the words are razor sharp and shaking and <i>loud</i>. Heads snap over at the familiar voice but he couldn’t care less. He doesn’t <i>care</i>, because he needs to be by George— he needs him, Dream needs him so desperately it’s like he’s choking, like there’s no air in his lungs and he— “Where is he?”</p><p>“Dream! Calm down,” Sapnap tries, but it falls on deaf ears. Dream tries to push past the other, out into the room, but the general steps in front of him, pushing him back. “You need to give the medics space—”</p><p>Dream doesn’t shove Sapnap out of the way. He won’t. But the space he’s confined in is too small, the corner of the tent far too tight, and he needs George, he needs to get out, to breathe and he needs to feel George’s hand in his, and George needs him now, not in a few minutes but now. He tries to get past but Sapnap is trying to stand his ground. “Sapnap, move, please, you- I’ve gotta, I need to get to him—”</p><p>“Breathe! Dream you have to breathe!”</p><p>But he’s not the one that needs to breathe, George has to breathe, George is <i>dying</i>—</p><p>“Get a hold of yourself!” Sapnap yells, but it doesn’t matter. </p><p>There’s wind shaking the tent, the ground is thrumming with energy, the air is thick with autumn chill, and Dream can feel it all. His walls are crumbling but he can’t even begin to care. The entire world is exploding in anguish, like it’s over, like there’s no hope, nothing worth fighting for anymore and Dream can’t take it, George isn’t dying, George can’t die—</p><p>“Move! I need— he needs—”</p><p>“Dream—”</p><p>“End, just let him over already if it’ll make him calm down,” a voice says, a medic that he can’t make out through his blurry vision, and Dream’s not sure when he started crying but it doesn’t matter because he needs to see George.</p><p>He sucks in a breath that doesn’t reach his lungs and it sends him into a coughing fit. Dream needs to see George, because what if he’s too late—</p><p>“Are you sure that that’s okay?”</p><p>Dream blinks the tears out of his eyes and tries to pull another breath, and this one is steadier. Sapnap’s moved back a bit, and the space helps.</p><p>“Just bring him over, General.”</p><p>“Come on Dream,” Sapnap says, and the words are soft but solid, and Dream is still having trouble breathing but his friend’s voice breaks through enough to snap him into reality. “He’s over here.”</p><p>George’s cot is low, just like all the others, but unlike the others, it’s covered in those blood-red mushrooms that Sapnap showed him earlier. Unlike the others, it’s got two medics carefully stitching George’s wound. Unlike the others, it’s got George, pale and unconscious and beautiful and it shatters Dream’s entire heart.</p><p>One look at the medics, and Dream knows it’s not going well.</p><p>“You gave him the potion?” Dream asks Sapnap, and the desperation in his voice is a real, living, breathing thing.</p><p>Sapnap just nods.</p><p>“There’s only so much one potion can do.” The medic that led them over says. “Dream, I assume?”</p><p>Dream’s already stopped paying attention.</p><p>With more care than he’s ever done anything, he picks up George’s hand. It’s limp in his, cold and smooth and more familiar than even his axe handles.</p><p>The earth thrums below him.</p><p>Through a window in the tent, he looks at the sky, painted in a sunset so red it looks like the sun itself is the one bleeding out. Soon, he’ll have dipped down into the ocean; soon, the stars will start to come out, one by painful one.</p><p>Forgiveness is never easy, not given without pain and not received without effort, but for some things, forgiveness is worth it.</p><p>Gently, slowly, Dream kneels.</p><p>The earth thrums under him, and grass starts to grow slowly at his knees. The wind brushes in, bringing fresh air, and wraps around Dream’s shoulders. An old friend, a comfort, a sibling so dear, but he doesn’t have time to say hello. He barely has the time to say he’s sorry.</p><p>“...eam? Dream?” He hears, but he pays it no mind. His cheeks are wet with tears, his chest heavy, but he’s calmer now. He has to be, with what he’s about to do.</p><p>He can feel the sun in the air. He’s warm, steady in a way Dream’s missed. Through the earth, he can feel the ocean. They’re rhythmic, a reassuring hello, a welcome home.</p><p>His family, here.</p><p>George’s hand in his is home. George, who should be breathing and laughing, who should be yelling at him, who he needs to apologize to.</p><p>Slowly, he watches as his walls turn to dust. He lets the wind sweep them away with a careful breeze.</p><p>“<b><span class="big">D</span><sup>r<i>e</i></sup></b><i><sup>am!</sup> <span class="u">I</span></i><span class="u"> <s><b><sub>m</sub></b>i</s></span><s>s</s><b><i><sup>se<s>d</s></sup></i></b><i><s> y</s></i><s><sub>o</sub></s><b><span class="big">u</span></b>,” it breathes, desperate words like a thousand lost voices scratching on as once.</p><p>He watches as the earth subsumes his walls, lets them sink into the mud around him.</p><p>“Y<sub><s>o<b>u</b></s></sub><b>r <i>a<sup>b</sup>s</i></b><i>e</i><sub>nce <b>w<sub>a</sub></b>s</sub> <b>f<span class="u">e</span></b><s>lt</s>, <span class="u"><i>S<sup>t</sup></i></span><i><sup>a</sup>r</i>,” she rumbles, and the words are a heartbeat, deep, drummed out and almost too low to hear, but physically there in the vibrations of his chest.</p><p>His breathing catches, because it still fucking hurts. It still feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, like it might shatter his bones all at once.</p><p>Even still, he sits by as the ocean erodes away his walls,</p><p>“<i>Y<sub>o<b>u</b></sub></i><b>’re <span class="big">ba</span></b><span class="big">c<span class="u">k.</span></span> <b>It</b> <i>to</i><span class="u">o</span><s>k</s><span class="u"> y</span><sup>o<s>u lo</s><i><sup>n<span class="u">g e</span></sup></i><span class="u">no</span>u<b>gh</b></sup>.”</p><p>and the sun bakes them down,</p><p>“<span class="small">G<sub><b><span class="u">o<i>o</i></span></b></sub><i>d</i></span> <b>l<sup>u</sup></b><sub>c<s>k,</s></sub><s> <span class="big">S<b>t<sup><i></i></sup></b><i>a<b></b></i></span></s><span class="big"><b><sup>r.</sup></b></span>”</p><p>and the stars shatter them to pieces.</p><p>“<b><s>W</s></b><s><sup>e</sup></s><sup> <i>we</i></sup><i><span class="u">re ne</span></i><span class="u">v<b>e<sub>r</sub></b></span><b> <span class="big">g<i>o</i></span></b><span class="big">n<sub>e</sub>,</span> <b><sub>Dr<i>e</i></sub><i>a</i></b><i>m, no <sup>m<b><s>a</s></b></sup></i><b><s>tt<span class="big">e<sub>r</sub> w</span></s></b><s><span class="big">h</span></s><span class="small"><span class="u">a</span></span><span class="big">t y</span><sub>ou <s>ma<i>n</i></s></sub><s><i><sup>a</sup></i></s><i><sup>g<b>e</b></sup><b><sub>d</sub></b> to <sup>tric</sup><b>k</b> <sup>yo<sup>urs</sup></sup></i>el<sup>f in</sup>to be<b>li<sup>e<s>vi</s></sup><s><sub>n</sub></s><span class="big">g</span>.</b>”</p><p>It grates, so deeply, so terribly, against his temples, and the cacophony almost breaks him. Yet George’s hand sits in his, and it’s <i>real</i>, and it’s <i>safe</i>, and he’ll do anything for the other.</p><p>So Dream lets the Void knock down the last of his walls, and its nothing consumes him.</p><p>“<sub>T</sub><b><s>o s<i>o</i></s></b><s><i>m</i></s><i><span class="big">e</span></i><span class="big"> <sup>th</sup></span><span class="small">in</span><span class="big">g<b>s, <span class="u">w</span></b></span><span class="u">e <i>mu<sup>s</sup></i><sup>t <s>alw</s></sup></span><s>a<b>y<i>s <sub>r</sub></i></b><i>e</i></s><i><span class="big">tu</span></i><span class="big">r</span><b>n</b>, <sub>St<sub>a<span class="u">r</span></sub><span class="u">. </span></sub><span class="u"><sup><b>Th</b></sup><b><s>is <sub><i>h</i></sub></s></b></span><s><i>um</i></s><i><sup>a</sup>n i</i>s <b>y<sup>o<i>u</i></sup></b><i>r<span class="big">s</span></i>.”</p><p>Then, in a mass of grating, bone shattering, buzzing, shrieking, horrible noise, all of the gods speak in unison.</p><p>It’s as though the entire universe has been funneled into one tiny, miniscule space. It punches the air out of his lungs; it freezes the world and replays all of reality in one single gasp.</p><p>“<span class="big"><b><sup>S</sup><s><sub>a</sub></s></b><s><i>v</i></s><i><span class="u"><sup><b>e</b> <sup></sup></sup></span>h</i><s><span class="u"><b>i</b></span></s><span class="u"><b><sup>m.</sup></b></span></span>”</p><p>Dream sucks in a coughing breath and pinches his eyes shut against the onslaught that the gods’ voices break into. It’s a cacophony of sound, louder— closer almost, than it ever has been before.</p><p>It’s overwhelming. Dream was raised with the thoughts and emotions of the gods pinging around inside his head, there but distant, like he was processing words or something he saw. Then, for almost two years, he cut that all off. It was him, alone inside his head. His thoughts and emotions were the only he knew.</p><p>But now he’s all of totality crammed into a human frame and it’s far too much.</p><p>It <i>hurts</i>.</p><p>His skull feels like his brain’s been replaced with explosions cracking about like TNT, the pressure building against bone and it’s going to break, it’s going to give—</p><p>Dream forces a breath.</p><p>In the past, he’s passed out, he’s seized, he’s succumbed to the blinding pain of the gods dissolving his form. It’s always been too much, far, far too much. He doesn’t have time for that now. He has to be strong, for George. Because George’s hand is in his and it’s cold and familiar and realer than any voice reverberating down his spine and vibrating inside his lungs. No, he can’t fall to the onslaught of voices in his head because that means failing George.</p><p>“<sup>S<b><span class="u">a</span></b></sup><b><span class="u"><i>v</i><sub><s>e</s></sub><s> <sup>h</sup></s></span></b><s><i>i</i></s><i>m,</i> <sub><i>D</i></sub><sup><b><s>S</s></b></sup><s><sub><i><span class="u">r</span></i></sub><span class="u"><sup><b>t</b></sup><sub><i>e</i></sub></span><sup><b>a</b></sup></s><sub><i>a</i></sub><sup><b><span class="u">r</span></b></sup><span class="u"><sub><i>m</i></sub></span>.”</p><p>The breath in his lungs rattles like a broken instrument, catching and stopping in his throat. He needs to save George. He has to. He wants to.</p><p>
  <i>Save him save him save him—</i>
</p><p>But how?</p><p>Desperation crawls under his skin and makes a home in his blood and flesh. It’s a physical itch, and it drives him into near panic. There’s so much happening, so much going on.</p><p>He can hear the desperate cry of Sapnap’s voice, somewhere distant as though he’s hearing him through a great expanse of water. There are the token sounds of chaos soaking in at the corners of his reality, painting it all red. The emotions in his chest are thick and rotting and exploding outwards in multitudes of something akin to smoke, rolling through his lungs and burning in familiar, hellish purple waves. And the voices—</p><p><sub>—sa</sub>v<sup>eh</sup>i<span class="u">msa</span>v<sub>eh</sub>i<b>msav</b>eh<i>im</i><span class="small">sa</span>ve<b>h<sup>i<s>m</s></sup></b>sa<span class="big"><span class="u">v</span></span><span class="u">e</span>h<i>im</i>save<s>h</s>i<i>ms</i>a<sub>veh</sub>imsav<sup>ehi</sup>ms<s>ave</s>hims<span class="u">a<sup>v</sup></span>ehims<s>av</s>e<sub>hi<b>ms</b></sub><b>a</b>v<i>e<span class="small">h<b>im</b></span><span class="u">s</span>a</i>ve<span class="u">hi</span>m<b>s<span class="big">a</span>v</b>ehi<s>msa</s>ve<sub>him<b>s</b>a</sub>v<i>ehi<span class="big">m</span>s</i>a<span class="u">veh</span>im<i>sav</i>ehi<b>ms</b>av<sub>eh</sub>ims<span class="u">a<sup>veh</sup>im</span>sa<s>veh</s>im<b>save—</b></p><p>—are a blinding, terrible, horrific white.</p><p>It’s nothing, yet everything all at once, a burning epicenter of too much, too much, too much.</p><p>He can’t breathe. He <i>can’t</i>.</p><p>George’s hand in his is blue, the color of the ocean or a lovely midday sky, and his fingertips unconsciously search out the other’s pulse. When he finds it it’s too shallow, far too weak, but it’s there. The rhythmic flutter under his cool skin is blue, and Dream forces the air in and out, over, and over, and over.</p><p>For George—</p><p>—savehim<sup>save</sup>himsa<b>v</b>ehimsa<span class="big">veh</span>im<sup>sa</sup><sub>veh</sub>imsa<b>vehims</b>avehimsa<sup>v</sup>saveh<span class="big">i</span>msavehi<span class="small">ms</span>avehi<s>ms</s>avehi<i>ms</i>ave<sup>h</sup>im<i>save</i>h<sup>i<s>m</s></sup>s<b>a<span class="big"><span class="u">v</span></span><span class="u">e</span></b>hi<span class="small">ms</span>a<b>ve<span class="u">h</span></b><span class="u">i</span>m<sup>sav</sup>ehim<b>sa</b>vehim<i>save</i>himsaveh<sup>im</sup>sav<span class="small">ehi</span>ms<sub>avehims</sub>ave<i>himsav</i>e<b>hi<span class="u">ms</span>a</b>veh<sub>imsav</sub>ehi<s>msav</s>ehim<span class="u">s</span>ave<span class="u">hi</span>m<b>s<span class="big">a</span>v</b>ehi<s>msavehi</s>msavehimsav<sub>ehim</sub>save<span class="u">h</span>imsa<s>ve</s>hi<sup>msa</sup>vehim<b>sa<sub>v</sub></b>ehimsav<span class="u">ehi</span>msavehim<sup>save</sup>hi—</p><p>—Dream would willingly live in the wretched voices of the gods. He would let them eat him raw, and he would learn to burn alive and keep breathing all the while.</p><p>The gods are an instrument, out of tune and dissonant, enough to drive any listener insane. Dream has to become the musician. Through his choppy breathing and panicked thoughts and overwhelmed senses, Dream needs to evoke a masterpiece. He has no other option because anything else means that George <i>dies.</i></p><p>It means that George dies, and everything that they fought for was for nothing.</p><p>Through the pounding in his head and the constant screams of the Void, Dream learns to breathe in fire and breathe out water. He learns to exist in the same space as the gods.</p><p> </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Sapnap is aware of Dream kneeling. He’s stressed, almost on the brink of tears.</p><p>George is going to die. It’s too soon, after Sapnap finally met him and Dream. Despite their faults, Sapnap has come to love the two. They’re dear friends.</p><p>Yet he has the feeling that, should he lose George to this, he’s going to lose Dream too.</p><p>He could see the mania and panic in the other’s eyes, the way he sprinted through the finish line and kept going, the way he’s tearing himself apart. Dream is dying with George, and Sapnap has to watch.</p><p>In his peripheral, he sees Dream’s eyes slip shut, watches his brows pinch and crinkle in pained concentration.</p><p>“Dream? Dream, man, come on,” he tries desperately. Sapnap is far too stressed to be anything other than a wreck. He can’t deal with this, not even after years of helping Karl through panic attacks. He can’t be someone else’s support when he’s already shattering apart. “Dream? Dream?”</p><p>His cheeks are splotched with red and covered in tears. Sapnap is still getting used to it, has seen it once before on accident, but it was ever so brief. He made sure not to linger on it. A desperate, distant part of his heart mourns the fact that this is the first time he truly gets to see his friend, because for the rest of his life he’ll have this visage of raw anguish burned into the backs of his eyelids.</p><p>Sapnap watches Dream physically flinch, multiple times. He watches the other’s brow furrow more, can tell he’s grinding his teeth. His breathing picks up, catching before rushing out, then in. His grip on George’s hand grows so tight that his knuckles go white.</p><p>There are things about them that Sapnap doesn’t understand, doesn’t think he’ll ever understand, but he knows that the two are caught in a web of the otherworldly, and it’s a lot to take in. Sapnap never really used to believe in the old gods, the ones George explained, but he kind of does now. With all that’s been said about them, with all that’s happened to Dream and George both, Sapnap would be a fool if he didn’t.</p><p>If he’s learned anything about Dream in the time they’ve known each other, it’s that Dream would be the one to miraculously save a dying man.</p><p>He would somehow wrangle the gods into saving George, or he would die trying.</p><p>Sapnap watches as Dream flinches at something, coughing in a fit but never opening his eyes. They only pinch closed tighter, and he can tell that Dream is in physical, actual pain, but what can he do?</p><p>What can he do?</p><p>
  <i>What can he do?</i>
</p><p>…</p><p>There’s nothing.</p><p>His best friends, the closest he’s had outside of Karl and Quackity, are dying. When he realized George’s plan he vowed that he would keep the other safe, and he got stabbed through the stomach. He’s too far gone. He’s going to die, unless Dream can save him.</p><p>He can’t do anything to help them.</p><p>The thing is, it’s a game of fifty-fifty. A fifty percent chance that Dream saves George, pulls him out of his grave and breathes life back into his lungs. A fifty percent chance that George grasps Dream’s hand and pulls Dream to the grave with him. Of course, there are other possibilities, but…</p><p> A coin is being flipped somewhere, and when it lands, he has a feeling he’ll have them both, or he’ll have lost them both.</p><p>As a whimper drags it’s way out from between Dream’s clenched teeth, Sapnap thinks that lady luck has always hated them all.</p><p> </p><p>The throbbing, terrible pain never dies down. The voices don’t cease. They continue to exist within him, speaking of things both relevant and completely unrelated. The chaos continues, scrambling him, scorching every crevice of him inside and out, but Dream stood in the flames and let them, and now he’s already burnt up. He’s slowly growing accustomed to the pain; maybe, more apt phrasing would be growing numb to it.</p><p>Instead, there’s something heady filling his brain and lungs, hazy like aromatic smoke and thick like slime, yet lighter than he’s ever felt. Bouncy, almost, like with one of his breaths he’s going to bounce into the sky and never come down. It feels a little bit like eating a puffer-fish, poison and nausea making you loopy, but with an added bonus of being struck by lightning at the same time. It feels like being struck by lightning, but instead of dying, redirecting it.</p><p>Dream feels like he’s floating away on the distinct mixtures of pain and power, like the way that they overwhelm his senses is forcing him to expand into something greater than himself, greater than the world they live in. He could get lost in it. There’s something tempting, some voice mixed into it all calling, “<i>L<s>e<sup>t <b>g</b></sup></s><b><sup></sup></b></i><b>o, e</b><i><span class="u">x</span></i><span class="u">p<b><s>l<sub>or</sub></s></b></span><b>e, c</b>o<s><i>m<sub>e</sub></i></s><i> h<b>o</b></i><b>m</b><sup>e</sup>,” and he <i>wants to.</i> It promises an end to the pain, access to power this grand for longer than he has the capability to comprehend, something more, something headier—</p><p>The weight in his hand tethers him down like an anchor, keeping him from floating up and away.</p><p>
  <i>George,</i>
</p><p>His brain is a riotous hellscape, but he has George. He has George, and he’s not going to lose him.</p><p>
  <i>I’m here. I’m going to save you.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Karl and Quackity finally come to the med tents a few hours later, looking for Sapnap.</p><p>Of course, it’s not that they don’t care about Dream and George, Sapnap knows that they do, he knows just how much they worry about the two strange heroes. No, they care, but there’s not much point in standing around with a comatose patient and his unresponsive friend.</p><p>Even still, Sapnap finds that he can’t leave.</p><p>What if something changes? Dream’s plateaued at a continuous grimace, eyebrows pinched in some mixture of concentration and fear; the expression is interrupted by flinches and coughs, the occasional groan or a noise of pain. If something happens, if Dream starts crying out or falls into a coughing fit that doesn’t stop, will anyone have the guts to try and help him? After doing everything they could to help George, the medics have been keeping a wide berth of the two, only coming over occasionally to check on George’s state. Sapnap doesn’t think that they’d be much help, should something happen to Dream.</p><p>“Sap,” Karl says, voice soft in the bright lamp light and overall chaos of the tent. Despite the late hour and the fact that the fight is over, the medics are still frantically helping people injured in the last battle. Wounded soldiers continue to filter in; barely healed soldiers are ushered out to make more room.</p><p>Quackity places a hands on his shoulder, gentle, comforting, and Sapnap bites down on his tears.</p><p>“What’s he doing?” Karl finally asks, settling to sit on the ground directly behind where Sapnap has been sitting for the past few hours. His friends’ presences are comforting, warm in the cold, terrifying space.</p><p>All Sapnap could feel at first was fear.</p><p>Now? He’s been hollowed out by it. Now, he’s near numb.</p><p>“I’m not— I’m not sure, exactly. I think it has something to do with the gods. He’s been like this since he got here a few hours ago.” Sapnap’s voice shakes. He hasn’t used it in awhile.</p><p>Sapnap flinches as Dream sucks a breath of air in through his teeth, sudden and hissing. He settles again after, and Sapnap follows suit.</p><p>“Is he okay?” The concern in Karl’s voice fills the air around them. He’s always admired Dream. Seeing the hero like this, seeing him at his weakest, even after becoming friends, must be strange for him.</p><p>“I don’t know.” It’s all Sapnap can manage. He doesn’t know what else there is to say about it.</p><p>A moment passes in silence. “You’ve gotta get some rest, man. We can all stay in your tent for the night, if it’d make you feel better,” Quackity murmurs, kneading his fingers into the tension in Sapnap’s shoulder. It would be nice, if he weren’t so distracted. If he could bring himself to leave, having his friends close would be good.</p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>In front of them, Dream’s breathing grows labored. Sapnap is hit with a moment of clarity with his friends by his side, and he takes the chance to really look at Dream and George. George barely looks any different, just pale and surrounded by mushrooms. None are on him, at least not that Sapnap can see. The medics got all the blood off of him, but the blood that got onto the bed remains, and from it grows the mushrooms. Something from the gods. A gift, an omen, a message, Sapnap has no idea. He has no chance of being able to tell.</p><p>He wishes that Dream and George had told him more. Maybe they wouldn’t be where they are now if they had.</p><p>Dream, on the other hand, is different. He’s paler than he was at the start of this; without his normal sunshine glow he looks washed out. A sheen of sweat covers his face despite the general cool air of the night, and there’s a flush of red filling his cheeks, making him look almost feverish. At his knees, where his legs meet the normally worn dirt of the tent’s floor, Sapnap notices grass.</p><p>It wasn’t there before.</p><p>He reaches a shaking hand and pulls a tiny bit up.</p><p>It doesn’t come up, and that’s when he realizes that the small growth isn’t grass at all. Rather, it’s the beginnings of a multitude of vines, covered in tiny fern-like fronds. Enough have sprouted up that they look like grass at their small, early stage, and Sapnap knows that this isn’t normal, he knows it’s otherworldly, he knows it and it’s terrifying.</p><p>“What the hell is that?” Quackity asks, leaning over him a bit.</p><p>He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.</p><p>“Are those vines?”</p><p>He can only nod mutely.</p><p>“Nether and End, Sap,” Karl breathes, “I don’t think we should leave him like this.”</p><p>Sapnap wants to agree, wants to pull Dream away and keep him safe but at the same time he wants to disagree, to keep Dream here and keep him safe because maybe he could save George—</p><p>“No way in Nether, Karl, are you crazy?” Quackity cuts in, incredulous, his volume raising a few notches. “If this is something involving the gods, we shouldn't intervene.”</p><p>Sapnap feels Karl turn his head. “We don’t know anything about ‘the gods’, Quackity. We do know our friends. We have to help Dream!”</p><p>“We have to stay alive. Dream chose to do this, he’ll be fine,” Quackity defends, tightening his grip on Sapnap’s shoulder. “Come on Sapnap, we should go.”</p><p>Sapnap can only shake his head.</p><p>“Sap?” Karl calls to him again, voice dripping concern.</p><p>“I have to stay here.”</p><p>He has to make sure that no one gets the idea to pull them apart, and that if they do, he can stop them. He has to make sure that if Dream gets worse, he can pull him away. He has to help them. This is his fault. If he’d protected George better, they wouldn’t be here. This is his fault. If he’d gotten through to Dream sooner, they wouldn’t be here. This is his fault, if he’d said something, if he’d stepped in, if, if, if—</p><p>“This isn’t your fault, Sapnap,” Quackity says quietly above him.</p><p>Karl nods against his back, holding him close.</p><p>Sapnap takes a deep breath to steady his panic.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>A beat.</p><p>“I have to stay.”</p><p> </p><p>“<span class="u">Y</span><i>ou</i> <s>d</s><b>o<sup>n’</sup></b>t kn<i><sub>o</sub></i>w,” the stars’ rumbled words stick out from the cacophony of voices in his head, “<i>d<s>o</s></i> <sup>y</sup><span class="big">o<b>u?</b></span>”</p><p><i>Know what? I don’t need to</i> know<i> anything, just help him, please,</i> he thinks back, desperately. He doesn’t think they hear it over the din of the universe’s conversation.</p><p>“Pl<i>e<span class="small">a</span>s</i>e, <span class="u">of</span> <i>c</i>o<sup>urs</sup>e <i>h</i><s>e <b>d</b></s>oes<b>n’<sub>t <span class="u">k</span></sub></b><span class="u">no</span>w,” The ocean thrums back.</p><p>“I<span class="u">t’s</span> <b>no</b>t li<sup>ke y</sup><b>o</b>u tau<b>ght</b> hi<i>m,</i>” the earth supplies.</p><p><sup>“It</sup>’<b>s</b> no<i>t</i> l<s>ik</s><sup><span class="small">e</span></sup> <span class="big"><b>w</b></span><b>e</b> <span class="small"><b>c</b><sup>o</sup></span><i>uld</i> te<i>a</i><s><sub>c</sub></s>h h<sup>im,”</sup> the sun replies in its hazy, bee-like screech.</p><p>The distinct words feel like nails in his skull. The more time he spends with the voices, the more he can distinguish them, the easier it is to pick out full sentences and recognize who is speaking. The more time he spends with the voices, the harder it is to feel the ground under his knees, the harder it becomes to feel George’s hand in his palm.</p><p>“<i>L</i><b>e<span class="u">ar</span><s>n</s></b>, <span class="big">t<sub>h</sub></span><b><span class="u">e</span></b>n.” The stars purr, and suddenly, he’s not in the exploding black of his head.</p><p>An older teen, a few years younger than Dream himself, is sitting in a field under a clear, night sky.</p><p>Dream can see him, is watching him from all angles, can see the world from his shut eyes.</p><p>It’s like the boy from the Nether all over again.</p><p>He’s wearing clothes from the Old Ages, simpler garbs. They’re oddly comfortable.</p><p>“Skele’s head,” the person hisses finally, blinking their eyes open and balling their hands in the fabric of their pants, “Just <i>say something.</i>”</p><p>Their hair is shorn close to their skin, and their face is round and soft. Still, their shoulders are full, broad, even slouched in frustration as they are.</p><p><i>“T<s>h</s>i</i><sub>s,</sub>” the stars buzz through the memory, and Dream can hardly tell if it’s happening to him or the person he’s watching, “<span class="u">is</span> <b>A</b>l<i>ei</i>x<span class="big">o.</span> Th<sup>ey</sup> w<i>er</i>e <span class="u">c<b>h</b></span><b>os</b>e<sub>n</sub> to fre<sub>e</sub> the V<b>oid</b>, yet a<sup>l<span class="small">on</span></sup><span class="small">e</span>, they o<s>nl</s>y mana<sub>ged t</sub>o tr<b>a</b>p it. It w<sup>as</sup> eno<sub>ugh fo</sub>r a whi<b>le, un</b>til it <s>w<i>a</i><span class="small">sn</span>’t.</s>”</p><p>The person, Aleixo, settles back into their position. They’re sitting primly, knees folded below them. They pull in a breath, and Dream can feel them reaching, searching with their thoughts.</p><p>They land on him, and he can feel them pulling at his presence.</p><p>A jolt of fear travels through him, because something here isn’t right, it can’t be— he’s not actually here, he’s back with George— where is George, <i>where is George?</i></p><p><b>“C<sup>a</sup></b>l<span class="u">m,</span> <i>st<b>a</b>r,</i>” The stars buzz in his brain. He gets a flash of what must be his time, and he sees the med tent. He sees George in a cot, he sees Sapnap sat on the ground at the base of it, and he sees himself, face uncovered, kneeling at George’s side. The world carries on around them. Then it’s gone. “<b>W</b>e w<i>ant</i> to sa<b>v</b>e h<sub>im.</sub> L<s>e<sup>a<i>r</i></sup><i>n</i></s> <span class="small">h</span>o<i>w.</i>”</p><p>The pull on him is gone.</p><p>Aleixo groans. “I was so close,” they whine, flopping onto their back.</p><p><i>What are they doing?</i> Dream asks, yet he doubts he’ll get a response.</p><p>A jolt goes through him when he’s proven wrong.</p><p>“W<b><i>h</i></b><i><sup>y,</sup> i</i>t’s <i>o<sub>bv</sub></i>iou<b>s,</b> i<span class="u">s i</span><s>t n</s>ot? <s>Th</s>ey’re try<i>in</i>g <span class="u">t</span><sup>o</sup> <b>c</b>o<s>n<span class="big">n</span></s>e<span class="big">c</span>t wi<sub>th</sub> t<i>he</i> <b><sub>g</sub>ods.</b>”</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap is jolted from the fitful hour or two of sleep he got by a clatter nearby. His bones pop painfully from resting his head on the foot of the cot.</p><p>As he blinks sleep from his eyes, he reorients himself with where he’s at. The battle. George is stabbed. Dream ends the war. Then this.</p><p>He takes the two in. Morning light is barely filtering in, the sun most likely just rising. George is paler in this light, even though he should look better. His chest is barely rising and falling, breathing far too shallow, but he is breathing. He is.</p><p>Dream is too pale as well. His forehead is pressed to their clasped hands, but other than that, nothing else about his posture has changed. He’s still rigid, shaking at times, looking terribly pained.</p><p>The vines wrap gently around his ankles, reaching up towards the rest of his legs. The toes of his boots have sunk into the dirt.</p><p>It looks like the earth is trying to consume him.</p><p>Sapnap lets out a shuddering breath.</p><p>This can’t be happening.</p><p> </p><p>The sun is crawling towards its highest point when Bad and Skeppy come in. They search the tent, and when their eyes land on him, on Dream and George, they head straight over.</p><p>This visit is probably not one made from concern either; Skeppy is here to check in on the situation for Techno, although Bad probably decided to tag along in order to check up on them.</p><p>Sapnap relays what happened to them, exhaustion and worry filling his tone. Bad sets a hand on his head and Sapnap has never had a father, not really, but he thinks it might feel a bit like what Bad is to him.</p><p>“What’s uh,” Skeppy starts, looking cautiously at Dream, “What’s up with the vines?”<br/>
By now they’ve grown to completely cover his lower legs and boots, the toes of which are sunk farther into the dirt. A few vines wrap up over his thighs, tangling together as they cover him, their bushes of leaves, small as they are, obscuring his pants; one reaches up to his stomach, slowly curling around his back. There’s a small bud sticking off of it, and the part of his head that’s tired and almost numb from the worry wonders what it will flower into.</p><p>“They started growing on him yesterday, pretty quickly.”</p><p>The three stare at the vines, and Sapnap can almost swear he’s watching them grow.</p><p>With how fast they have been, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was.</p><p>“We should remove them,” Bad says finally, and he sounds like he’s trying and failing to be resolute.</p><p>“Bad, you know the type of shit those two are involved with.”</p><p>A beat passes. “First off, language,” Bad starts, and as stupid as it is, his typical shenanigans are enough to make Sapnap crack a grin. “Secondly, what if they’re hurting him?”</p><p>Anxiety and guilt eat away in Sapnap’s stomach.</p><p>Why isn’t he doing anything? He should be pulling Dream out and away, no matter the cost.</p><p>Except... what if the cost is George?</p><p>What if they’re wrong, and the cost is both of them?</p><p>Why is this so damn <i>complicated?</i></p><p>“We shouldn’t mess with him. I’m staying here to make sure he stays safe. If something goes wrong, I’ll help him,” Sapnap murmurs.</p><p> “I think that’s pretty smart,” Skeppy agrees, voice still hesitant.</p><p>Bad looks between them, then sighs. “Alright. I’ll be back around sometime to keep you company if they don’t wake up soon,” he finally replies. “But don’t forget to eat and sleep and take care of yourself, you muffin!” he tacks on quickly, and Sapnap can only nod.</p><p>They leave as the sun peaks and Sapnap is alone as it begins heading for the western horizon.</p><p> </p><p><i>What does this have to do with George?</i> Dream calls desperately to the stars as the vision around him fades.<br/>
“<i>A</i>lei<b>x</b>o wa<s>s <b>a</b></s>n ama<sup>zin</sup>g he<b>r<sup>o,</sup></b>” the sun buzzes.</p><p>“<sub>It’</sub>s <span class="small">a</span> sh<b>a<s>me</s></b> th<i>ey</i> w<span class="u">e</span><sup>r</sup>e <b>mor</b>ta<span class="u"><i>l,</i></span>” the earth hums back, “<span class="big">I d</span><span class="u">o</span> mi<sup>s<i>s</i></sup><i> th</i>e<sub>m.</sub>”</p><p>“T<i>he</i>ir <s>b</s>r<sup>a<b>ve</b></sup>ry wa<span class="small">s</span> i<sub>n<b>c</b></sub><b>o</b>m<i>pre<span class="u">hen</span>si</i>bly g<sub>r<s>e</s>a</sub>t,” the ocean tacks on.</p><p>“<i>I</i> <b>t</b>hi<i>nk</i> <b>G</b>eo<b>rg</b>e <span class="u">m<b>a</b></span><b>y b</b><sup>e b</sup>r<span class="small">av</span><i>er,</i>” the earth replies, and Dream agrees on principle, but.</p><p>It’s clear that they’re not listening.</p><p>“<sub>O</sub>f c<i>ou</i>r<sub>se</sub> that <s>wo</s>uldn’t ma<i>k</i>e y<sup>ou un</sup>ders<b>tan</b>d. <b>Wh<s>e</s></b><s>n</s> t<span class="u">h</span><span class="big">e</span> g<span class="u">ods</span> s<b>pe</b>n<sup>d to</sup>o mu<i>c</i>h t<span class="big"><b>i</b></span>me a<sub>mon</sub>g h<sup>u<b>m</b>a</sup>ns they l<s>ose</s> their <i>s<sub>en</sub>s</i>e,” the Void rumbles in his head, and Dream can just tell it’s directly to him and only him. Despite the monstrous, grating tone, he can almost hear something akin to exasperation in the words.</p><p><i>Understand what? What are the stars trying to show me?</i> he thinks, desperate, desperate, desperate.</p><p>“<i>O</i>h s<sup>pe</sup>ak u<i>p. <b>Y</b><span class="u">o</span>u</i>’re ac<sub>tin</sub>g li<span class="small">ke</span> a <b>ch</b><i>il</i>d, Sta<b>r.</b> I can <b>b<s>a</s></b><s>rel</s>y <i>he<sup><span class="u">a</span></sup>r</i> y<sub>o</sub>u.”</p><p>Dream has no clue how to ‘speak up’, and he’s getting damn tired of being treated like an idiot, but he tries anyways. <i>What are the stars trying to show me?</i> He concentrates on each word, on projecting the thought out.</p><p>A deep sensation of annoyance fills him, but it’s not his own. “<sup>T</sup>h<i>a<s>t’s</s> b</i>arely a<s>n</s>y b<b>et</b>ter b<b>ut</b> I <span class="big">d<span class="u">on</span>’t</span> <b>h</b>a<span class="small">ve</span> <i>ti<sub>m</sub><s>e</s></i> to <span class="big">t</span>e<span class="small">a</span><i>ch</i> yo<s>u h</s><i>ow t</i>o s<b>p<i>e</i></b><i>ak,</i> no<sub>t</sub> n<i>ow,</i>” it says, and the words bound around inside his skull like a family of startled rabbits. “<sub><i>T</i>he</sub>y’<b>r<sup>e</sup></b> try<b>in</b>g to te<b>ll <span class="u">y</span></b>ou so<b>met</b>hin<i>g</i> t<s>ha</s>t you sho<sub>uld’</sub>ve k<s>n<b>o</b>w</s>n <sup>y</sup>o<i>ur</i> en<b>t<i>ire</i></b><i> exi<span class="u">s</span></i><span class="u">ten<sup>c</sup></span>e.”</p><p> </p><p>Karl and Quackity bring him food, and the hug they leave him with before reluctantly going makes him feel like there might be hope after this is all done, no matter the outcome.</p><p>Bad stops by again too. He asks how it’s been. He tells Sapnap that King Technoblade plans to visit.</p><p>When the King finally does show up, it’s in something far more casual than what he would typically wear, and he looks tired. His hair is in a messy braid and his clothes are rumpled.</p><p>“General Sapnap,” the man greets softly, looking at the two heroes past him. “It’s good to see that you’re still well.”</p><p>“Mm, yeah. I’m peachy,” he quips back, forgetting his manners. He’s too tired, too worn. If Technoblade looks more ruffled than usual, Sapnap isn’t sure what he himself would qualify as.</p><p>The king just laughs dryly at that. “Peace talks have been goin’ well.” He looks around, at all the still injured soldiers, and frowns. “Dream was outta line, in most of the things he did, but I’m glad he stepped in. I was too far gone to see it myself.”</p><p>Sapnap snorts. “He was too. George was the only one who saw it.”</p><p>“Is that what this is then?”</p><p>He nods.</p><p>“Fair enough. Skeppy already explained most of it, includin’,” he pauses, gesturing towards Dream, “the uh, the vines.”</p><p>Sapnap sighs, suddenly overcome by the urge to take Dream’s place in the growing mass of the plant. It covers most of his waist, its leaves large enough to completely obscure his legs. The plant is covered in flower buds, the earliest few concealing the slightest bit of red petals.</p><p>“Then, no disrespect,” Sapnap starts and the king makes a little noise of acknowledgement, “why are you even here?”</p><p>Techno laughs at that, and it’s clear that he’s tired and worn thin too.</p><p>“I guess I wanted to see it myself,” he says, then pauses with a sigh. His face grows serious. “We’ve seen the shit the gods can pull. We don’t wanna anger them. No one is to move Dream.”</p><p>Sapnap snaps his head up. “What—”</p><p>“That’s an order, general.”</p><p>Techno leaves as clouds cover the setting sun.</p><p>He’s torn. He needs his position, has worked his ass off to get here. Bad, Karl, Quackity, <i>his family</i> is here. He could lose it, if he disobeys.</p><p>A vine climbs up Dream’s shoulder, approaching his neck.</p><p>Sapnap will do what he has to do, he supposes.</p><p>He just doesn’t know what the fuck that entails, at all.</p><p> </p><p>Dream is frustrated. Why won’t any of the gods just tell him what it is, why won’t they stop beating around the bush? George is dying. He’s dying and they won’t help him.</p><p>“<b>S<sub>t<s>a</s></sub></b><s>r. Yo</s>u <b>li<sup>v</sup>e </b>am<sup>on<s>g hu</s></sup><s>m</s>ans, and br<sub>ea<b>th</b>e <span class="u">a</span></sub><span class="u">nd b<b>le<sup>ed</sup></b></span><b> a</b>s th<i>ey d<sub>o.</sub> Y<span class="u">o</span></i><span class="u">u w<sup>ill l</sup></span>iv<i>e <b>a</b></i><b>nd d</b>ie <sup>as <b>t</b></sup><b>he</b>y <sub>d</sub>o.”</p><p>Well of course he will. He knows that and has known that his entire life. It’s obvious, and useless to him.</p><p><i>Please,</i> he calls as loudly as he can, <i>please just save George. You all say you want to. Save him, please.</i></p><p>Dream can feel the Void’s annoyance, can tell it heard him.</p><p>It doesn’t dignify him with a response.</p><p>“<sup>D<b>o y</b></sup><b><span class="u">o</span></b><span class="u">u k<sub><i>n</i></sub></span><i>o</i><sub>w <b>wh</b></sub>y <i>I <s>ca</s></i><s><sup>ll yo</sup></s><i>u <span class="u">S<sub><b>t</b></sub></span></i><span class="u"><b>a</b></span><b>r?</b>”</p><p>The irritation seeps in and amplifies Dream’s own.</p><p>
  <i>It doesn’t matter, just help him, he’s going to die—</i>
</p><p>“<span class="big"><span class="big">S</span></span><i>t<span class="u">op th</span></i><span class="u">r<b>o</b></span><b>w<sup>in</sup></b>g a ta<b><s>n<sub>tr</sub></s>u</b>m,” it dismisses him. “<sub>D</sub>o <span class="u">yo<b><i>u k</i>n</b></span><b><s>o</s><i>w <sub>w</sub></i></b><i><sup>h</sup></i><sup>y I ca</sup>ll <b>yo</b><sup>u</sup> <span class="u">St<s>ar</s></span>?”</p><p>Dream is frustrated and <i>scared</i>, and his head hurts, he can’t feel his body, and George is dying and <i>no one is listening.</i> It all boils into anger, and he can’t <i>do this.</i></p><p><i>I’m not throwing a tantrum, he just needs help,</i> Dream stresses, anger seeping into his tone.</p><p>“I<b>f y<sub><span class="u">o</span></sub><span class="u"><sup><i>u</i></sup><i>’r</i></span></b><span class="u"><i><sub>e</sub></i> go</span>i<b>ng to st</b>a<s>r<i>t</i></s><sup> wi</sup>t<s>h t<sup>h</sup>is, <i>a<sub>t l<span class="u">e</span></sub></i></s><i><span class="u"><b>a</b></span></i><span class="u"><b>s</b></span><b>t sp</b>e<sup>a<b><i>k</i></b></sup><b><i> <span class="u">u</span></i></b><i><sub>p</sub></i>,” the Void drawls, some form of anger rising too.</p><p>
  <i>What do you mean? What the fuck do you mean speak up? I am speaking up!</i>
</p><p>“<i>T<s>h<b>e<sup>s</sup></b></s></i><s><b>e</b> a</s><sup><i>re y</i></sup><i>o</i>u<span class="u">r th<sub>o</sub><sup>u</sup></span>ght<b>s, yo<sub>u in</sub></b><sub>so</sub><i>lent</i> st<b>ar</b>. <i><b>S</b>p<b>e<sup>a</sup>k.</b></i>.”</p><p>Dream searches desperately for his body, traces the tether of George’s hand in his back to his mouth and tries to make a noise. All that comes out is a groan. He feels a sharp tug on his consciousness and he’s back knee deep in the voices of the gods, somewhere deep inside his head. All he can feel is the Void’s angry disapproval, barely letting his own overwhelming frustration through. Dream wants to scream at the sky and punch something or maybe break down and sob, and he <i>is</i> throwing a tantrum but it’s because he doesn’t know what to do and he’s scared.</p><p>He’s so, so scare<i>d, an</i><sub>d</sub> n<span class="big"><b>o</b> o</span><span class="small"><i>n<b>e</b></i> i</span>s <sup>he</sup>lpi<b>ng</b>.</p><p>“N<b>ot w<sup>it</sup></b><sup>h your <i>mo<b>u</b>th, f</i></sup><i>o</i><span class="u">ol, wi</span><s>th</s> <span class="u">y<b>o<i>ur m</i>in<sup><i>d. Y</i></sup></b><i>o</i></span><i>u’re <b>p</b></i><b>ath</b>e<span class="u">ti<s>c if y<b>ou</b></s><b> ca<sub>n</sub></b>’t</span> even m<b>a</b>nage t<s>hat</s>.”</p><p>Dream is going to break.</p><p>“I<b>f <sup>yo</sup></b><span class="u">u c<i>an’t e</i><sup>ve</sup></span>n m<b>ana<sup><span class="u">g</span></sup></b><span class="u">e t<i>o</i></span><i> sp<s>e<sub>a</sub></s></i><s>k, yo</s><sup>ur hu<i><b>m<span class="u">a</span></b><span class="u">n</span></i><span class="u"> wi</span>ll <b>di</b>e sur<sup>er tha<i>n <b>th</b></i></sup><i><b>e su</b></i><b>n w</b>i<sub>ll</sub> set. An<b>d it</b>’s <b>s<sup>e</sup></b></sup><sub>t<i><span class="u">t</span></i></sub><i><span class="u">in</span></i><span class="u">g</span> n<b>o<span class="big">w</span></b>.”</p><p>“<span class="big">T<b>h<i>e</i><sup>n</sup></b> he<sup><i>l</i></sup></span><i><b>p</b></i><b> me y</b><span class="big"><s>o<sub><i>u</i></sub><i> f</i></s><i><sub>u</sub></i><b>c<span class="u">ke</span></b>r!</span>” Dream shouts.</p><p>It comes out in a tone that Dream doesn’t recognize as his own, broken, clicking like the legs of a centipede, scraping out of him like metal on fine porcelain. There’s a ringing to it, like cracked chimes, like the song of an out of tune instrument.</p><p>The voice of a god.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not too long after Techno leaves when Sapnap hears a groan come from Dream. The vines seem to be growing faster and one has wrapped around his friend’s arm. It grows towards Dream and George’s interlocked hands. More buds have grown, and Sapnap wonders, again, what plant it is.</p><p>Dream has been relatively silent the majority of the day, the pained noises dying off sometime around when he fell asleep. The sun is almost fully set behind the darkening clouds, and Sapnap is settling in for another long night.</p><p>He takes in the state of the two. George’s breathing is shallower than it has been this entire time. It rattles faintly in his chest. He looks like a corpse.</p><p>Sapnap gets a medic to check on him, and hopes that they last another night.</p><p> </p><p>“<b>Ve<s>r<sup>y g</sup></s></b><s>o<b><sub>o</sub></b></s>d, <i>S<b>ta</b></i><sup>r,</sup>” the Void rumbles. The tenor of the words is completely different from Dream’s. It’s far grander, fuller than Dream’s voice. It encompasses everything and nothing all at once. Dream’s sounds thin and reedy compared to its. “<b>I <s>a<sup><i>m h</i></sup></s></b><s>elpi</s>n<b>g, i<sub>f</sub></b> <span class="u">y<sub><i>o</i></sub></span>u jus<b>t l<span class="u">e<span class="big"><sup>t</sup></span></span></b><span class="big"> me</span>.”</p><p>When Dream doesn’t say anything, too stunned by ‘his voice’, the Void continues.</p><p>“<s>Ple<sup>a</sup>s</s><sup><b>e, t</b></sup><b><sub>ry</sub></b> y<span class="u">ou<i>r b</i></span><i><span class="big"><b>e</b></span></i>s<span class="u">t <b>t</b></span><b><s>o <sup>ke</sup></s></b><sup>ep a le<sup>v<b>el h</b></sup></sup><b>e</b><span class="u">ad, y<sub>e</sub></span>s?” A beat passes. “N<span class="u">o</span><sub>w, d<b>o</b> y</sub><sup>o</sup><sub>u k<i><span class="u">no</span></i></sub><i><span class="u">w w<b>h</b></span></i><span class="u"><b>y I c</b><sup>al</sup></span><i>l y</i>ou s<sub><b>t</b></sub>ar? H<b>av<sup>e y</sup>o</b>u put t<sub>h<span class="u">e <b><i>pi</i></b></span></sub><span class="u"><b><i>ec</i>e</b></span><b>s to</b>g<sup><span class="u">e</span></sup><span class="u">th<sub>e</sub></span>r <b>ye</b>t?”</p><p>It’s always been strange, the way the Void and other gods addressed him as <i>star</i>. He’s always chalked it up to being their chosen one, but…</p><p>Their first chosen one couldn’t speak to the gods, at least, not without trying.</p><p>And yet...</p><p>Dream’s entire life has been one big struggle to keep their voices out.</p><p> </p><p>The rattling grows louder, despite George’s breaths growing shallower.</p><p>Sapnap is sure now that he can see the vines growing, can spot the difference minute by minute if he glances away.</p><p>The medics rush around them, never once asking him to leave.</p><p>The vine on Dream’s arm reaches their hands, slowly circling around where they’re interlocked. A bud starts to grow there, and it looks like they’re being tied together.</p><p>Whatever happens to one, it’s happening to both of them.</p><p>Either George miraculously wakes up, or Dream goes down with him.</p><p> </p><p>“<sup>A</sup>s <s>m<i>u<b>c</b></i></s><b>h as</b> I l<sub>i<span class="u">k<i>e t</i>h<i>i</i></span></sub><span class="u">s <sup>se</sup></span>lf-r<b>eflec<i>t</i></b><i>io</i>n, <span class="small">yo</span><span class="big"><s>u</s></span><span class="small">r t</span><b>i</b><sup>me</sup> is <b><s>tic</s></b><s>k<sub>in</sub></s><i>g</i>, <b>s</b>t<b>ar.</b>”</p><p> </p><p>The realization hits him like the soft patter of rain, bit by bit, seeping into his brain. All of his life, he’s felt the gods. All of his life, he’s known their stories. All of his life, he’s been able to speak to them, even if it killed him.</p><p>Now? He can speak <i>like</i> them. He can match them word for word.</p><p>There’s only one way that that’s possible—</p><p>But that doesn’t make sense—</p><p>Except it <i>does</i>, in fact it makes everything make sense, every confusing or missing piece of information makes sense.</p><p>So he— Dream is—</p><p>When Aleixo tried to speak to the gods, they reached him.</p><p>He can’t be, can he?</p><p>“<sub><i>T<span class="u">h</span></i><span class="u">i</span></sub><span class="u"><b>s</b></span>—” Dream trips over the words, foreign as they are to him. “<b>I’</b><sup>m</sup>—” he stops. He sounds ridiculous. “<b>W<s>h</s></b><s>a<sub>t’</sub></s><sup>s h<b>a<span class="u">p</span></b></sup><b><span class="u"><sub>pe</sub></span>n</b><sub>ing?</sub>”</p><p>“<span class="u">W<i>e <sub>fo<sub>u</sub></sub></i><sub>n</sub></span><b>d a h<span class="big">u</span></b><span class="big">m<sup>an c</sup></span><span class="small">o<sub>u</sub></span><span class="big">l<i>d</i></span><i>n’t <b>sa<sub><span class="u">v</span></sub><span class="u"><sup>e t</sup></span></b>h<sup>e e</sup></i>n<b><span class="u">d</span></b><span class="u">er d<s>r<b>ag</b></s></span><s><b>o</b>n <b><span class="u">o</span></b></s><span class="u">n t<sub>h</sub></span>ei<b>r o<i>w<sub>n</sub></i>,</b> so w<sup>e</sup> <sub>put a</sub> pie<i>ce o</i><sup>f</sup> t<span class="u">h<sub>e st<b>a</b></sub></span><b>rs o</b>n e<sub>ar<b>t</b>h to gu</sub><sup>id<b>e t<sup>he ch</sup></b>os</sup>en o<span class="u">ne. Y</span><s>o</s><b>u a<span class="u">r<sup>e</sup> t</span>h<i>e g</i></b><i>ui<sub>d</sub></i>e,” it explains quickly, gravely. Its tone deepens in urgency. “<b>Y<span class="u">o</span></b><span class="u"><sub>u a</sub></span>re t<i>h<b>e gu<sup>i</sup><sub>d</sub></b>e, a</i>nd <b>y</b><span class="small">o<sub><span class="u">u</span></sub><span class="u">r c</span></span><span class="u"><span class="big">h<b>o</b><sup>se</sup></span></span>n one is d<sub><sub><s>y</s></sub></sub><s>i</s>n<b>g. <i>Sa</i></b>v<b>e</b> <sup>hi</sup><b>m.</b>”</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap can practically see the moment it stops.</p><p>Can see it, as the noise of the med tents turns to a buzz in his ears, the way George’s chest stills.</p><p>Can see the last breath slip from between George’s lightly parted lips.</p><p>Can see the vine now near rapidly growing up George’s arm, around Dream’s shoulders and neck.</p><p>It feels like slow motion, the way that the medic checks George’s pulse at his neck and shakes his head, holding a hand over the hero’s mouth.</p><p>A single moth flutters down and lands on the bridge of George’s nose, almost between his eyes.</p><p>His eyes that are shut, now and, he supposes numbly, forever.</p><p>The creature flutters slightly and it’s <i>so</i> red. Reality snaps back in like a rubber band.</p><p>The buzz cuts out, as if he just emerged from deep water. Time zips back into motion, and with it so does Sapnap.</p><p>The hand that he sets on Dream’s shoulder immediately gets covered by the fronds and vines, but he doesn’t pull away. He just shakes his friend, urgent, desperate.</p><p>“Dream!” He yells, trying to reach his friend. Dream doesn’t respond, so Sapnap starts pulling.</p><p>Dream himself falls limply against his side. His breathing is heavy, still deep enough to not be overly concerning, but the pained pinch in his eyebrows and clenched jaws are still present. His hands don’t move, nor do his legs. The vines are holding him in place.</p><p>Where they touch Sapnap, they grow onto him, wrapping around his back and sticking Dream to his side.</p><p>The panic in his chest is a real, clawing thing, but he ignores it. He ignores the vines wrapping around him, instead scrambling at the one overtaking George’s arm, pulling it off of him as fast as he can.</p><p>He gets it as far as their hands, but it’s tangled so thoroughly around their fingers that it’s hell trying to separate them.</p><p>Because that’s what Sapnap is trying to do.</p><p>Separate them.</p><p>Yet as a vine wraps around his chin, leaves filling the edges of his vision, he wonders if somehow, he’s doomed himself too.</p><p> </p><p>The panic hits him in a wave.</p><p>All of the gods sing with it, heightening his own barrage of fear and alarm to a new level.</p><p>He doesn’t know what to do, but he searches for that tether back to reality. He searches for the cool pressure of George’s palm against his.</p><p>Dream can’t find it.</p><p>The darkness around him is overwhelming, the voices of the gods louder and more pressing.</p><p>Desperately he wades through the pitch black, trying to find the flutter of George’s pulse but he can’t— he can’t find himself and he can’t find George, he’s lost, he’s lost and he can’t get out he wants to get out—</p><p>“Dream!”</p><p>The call is faint, barely sinking in far enough to reach him, but it’s there. It’s Sapnap.</p><p>He latches on to it with every ounce of his consciousness and follows it.</p><p>Noise, normal, human noise, begins filtering in and after the chaos of the gods it hurts like hot water on a burn. It stings, so so badly, but it’s a physical sensation, real to his body, and he latches on to that too.</p><p>Soon he can feel his knees on the ground and something rubbing uncomfortably over his skin. Something soft is brushing his arms and neck and face, and he’s leaning against something solid.</p><p>All of it is unimportant compared to the hand still held tightly in his.</p><p>
  <i>George.</i>
</p><p>His eyes fly open.</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap feels Dream shift where he leans against the General’s side, where the vines shift onto him, and it renews his fight. Like <i>hell</i> he’s giving up now.</p><p>He wraps his fingers around the vines on Dream and George’s hands and yanks.</p><p>Something gives.</p><p>He pulls again and they… they snap.</p><p>“Dream, come on, let go, you need to let <i>go</i>,” he begs.</p><p> </p><p>“Dream… go… need to let go.” The words fade in and out as reality settles in his consciousness settles back into his skin.</p><p>He feels something pulling on him, and he realizes it’s Sapnap. He’s trying to get Dream to let go of George.</p><p>No.</p><p><i>No</i>.</p><p>How could he— no.</p><p>No no no no no no no no no—</p><p>“Stop,” Dream breathes out, and it’s weak, far from the command he was hoping to muster. He opens his mouth to reiterate, but all that comes out is a cough. Still, he tightens his hands on George. He won’t let go. He <i>won’t let go.</i></p><p>“Dream, you have to get out of those vines,” Sapnap says, and it’s clearer as the haze fades from his head. Power slowly seeps back into him as he settles into reality. It’s then that he properly notices them, the strange vines wrapping around his entire body, growing rapidly. A shock of panic shoots through him, and he pulls one of the vines away from his other arm.</p><p>It’s a cypress vine, he notes, startled.</p><p>In his moment of distraction, Sapnap pulls on him again, pulls on the vines connecting them, and his hand slips in George’s grip. Instantly, he clasps his second hand back.</p><p>“Let me help him— I can help him—”</p><p>A vine grows back around their hands, holding them together like twine and Dream breathes a sigh, trying to close his eyes and focus because he can help if he can just focus—</p><p>“You can’t! Please!” Sapnap yells, yanking again on the vines and jerking Dream around. He needs help. Why aren’t the medics helping? Fuck, if he has to do this all on his own he will.</p><p>Frustration builds again in his chest. He has to help George, why can’t Sapnap see that? Why won’t he let him help George? </p><p>“Stop it!” he shouts back, but Sapnap has that stubborn look on his face that says he probably won’t. “Just get away! Let me—”</p><p>Sapnap pulls on the vines connecting them but Dream refuses to move, he won’t. He won’t he won’t he won’t—</p><p>The vines slip from Sapnap’s form, leaving him to tumble back. Immediately the circling back to Dream like snakes, but instead of their hold being constricting it makes Dream feel safe. They’re holding him here. They’re making sure he won’t be taken from George’s side.</p><p>He closes his eyes again, trying to focus, trying to focus on George, on himself, on how to do this. The voices of the gods are distant, slowly fading in, but he <i>understands</i> now. He can fix this, he can help George, <i>he can help—</i></p><p>A weight barrels into him, snapping him back into reality, knocking him over despite the vines. The ones between his hand and George’s yank on his arm, sending a spike of pain through his shoulder.</p><p>Dream cries out but Sapnap pays him no mind. Instead, the general tears at the vines on his hands, jostling his shoulder and sending another jolt of pain through his arm. “Sapnap, Stop!”</p><p>The Void told him he was running out of time. He has to do something, he has to, why isn’t Sapnap <i>letting him do anything?!</i></p><p>“He’s dead, Dream! He’s dead!”</p><p>The world stops.</p><p>Time slows and for a moment, Dream can see it all.</p><p>The medics are rushing around, looking confused and concerned and scared. The other patients are staring openly.</p><p>Sapnap looks tired, harrowed and desperate. He looks like a man who’s on the edge of losing a hard fought battle, fighting tooth and nail to the very end. It fills Dream with guilt, in this moment of reprieve, of clear thought. He’s not worth the fight, never has been. He wishes Sapnap could see that, because otherwise, he’ll keep fighting, and he’ll lose.</p><p>He will die for George, if that’s what it takes.</p><p>Dream’s always been selfless like that.</p><p>Until death stops him, he will always choose George.</p><p>He’s always been so horrendously selfish.</p><p>It feels like an eon as he watches time tick by at a snail’s pace, yet it hits him like a meteor.</p><p>
  <i>George is dead.</i>
</p><p>And like that, time continues.</p><p>Sapnap breaks the vines at their hands, and Dream loses his grip on George. The cypress vine turns red with its blossoms, the buds opening at once to reveal soft, crimson petals. Moonlight floods the tent as the cloud cover breaks.</p><p>“<b><i>L</i></b><i><sup>e<s>t</s></sup></i><s> m</s><b><sup>e</sup> <sub>g</sub></b><span class="u">o</span>!” he screams, and it’s horrific. “<b>G</b><sub><i>eo</i></sub><s><span class="u"><b>r</b></span></s><span class="u"><i><sup>g</sup></i></span><i><b></b></i><b>e</b>!”</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap won’t let Dream die, gods and their wills be damned.</p><p>That’s why he barrels Dream over, headfirst back into the vines even after they released him.</p><p>That’s why he shouts that George is dead; anything, to break through to the other.</p><p>Despite all his panic, all his fear and confusion, Sapnap won’t let Dream die today.</p><p>It’s when Sapnap finally gets the vines off of Dream and George’s hands, when Dream finally lets go, that the world goes to shit.</p><p>The vines bloom, a wave of shocking red, and through the windows the clouds seem to disappear into thin air. The night is nearly as bright as a cloudy day, lit by starlight and the moon, mixing with the low light of the tent to brighten it further. It makes Dream look like he’s glowing.</p><p>And then he <i>is</i>.</p><p>The shout Dream lets out is incomprehensible. It feels like someone is slamming the dull end of a pickaxe into his brain. It sounds like glass shattering, like tnt inside his head, like the hiss of a creeper, like ten-thousand bees. The noise, clearly somehow coming from Dream, hits him like a hurricane, and it <i>hurts.</i> It’s the loudest, most encompassing thing he’s ever heard. It’s everything horrific in the world.</p><p>Most of all, it’s a wail of pure, unfiltered grief.</p><p>A drop of blood falls from his nose and he scrambles away.</p><p>He’s terrified.</p><p>Sapnap said damn the gods, and it seems they didn’t like that.</p><p>A part of him wants to run, to sprint away in horror and forget about this. A part of him wants to rush back to Dream before he can be consumed by whatever otherworldly force is inside of him. A part of him hopes that this is a miracle.</p><p>None of that prevails.</p><p>Instead, Sapnap sits a few feet back on the ground as blood drips down his chin, frozen.</p><p>There’s not much else he can do, really.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like something snaps into place when he speaks in the voice of the gods in his human body. It feels like the space in his head and the real world, the world he knows, merge into one.</p><p>With a deep breath, Dream focuses.</p><p>George’s hand in his is cold and limp, but the skin is soft and familiar despite the unnatural temperature. In stark contrast, Dream feels like his own hands are on fire, shaky and too hot, electricity ready to strike out wherever and as soon as it can. He hates that in this moment, one oh so important, he’s losing it. He’s panicking and falling apart and if George were here with him he’d hold him together, but he’s not, so Dream’s just going to have to deal with the electricity threatening to tear him apart from the inside out on his own.</p><p>He feels like his bones are filled with infinity, like reality itself is making a home in his veins.</p><p>It’s with that thought that the idea hits him. Dream is alive right now, far too alive in fact, far too much, always far too much, and George is— George is d—</p><p>George isn’t.</p><p>If Dream can give him some of what he’s overflowing with, then maybe… maybe he can save George. Maybe he can save the one thing he truly cares to protect.</p><p>Breathing deeply, shakily, he pictures the energy in him as a physical light— can almost see it on his skin casting the dirt and chaos around him in a soft glow— and pictures pouring it out of himself, into George.</p><p>Dream would give George his entirety, if it meant the other got to breathe and smile some day.</p><p>A part of him thinks, idly, that he might be doing just that.</p><p>He feels the buzz and panic start to subside, and watches in awe as George’s hand, held in his, starts to glow. Dream stares, feeling the tide recede in his chest, at the way his skin truly <i>does</i> glow, shining as starlight-sparks dance across his skin. The light crawls up George’s arm, and dully, he feels heat. The sensation is received like someone told him about it rather than him actually feeling it. He thinks it might be painful.</p><p>He can’t tell.</p><p>The electricity seeps out of him slowly, taking the shaking with it and leaving him feeling almost normal. He’s entranced by the display, by the way it slowly overtakes George’s bicep and shoulder, dancing up, tendrils of plasma-like light licking at his neck and jaw.</p><p>Dream watches it in awe. The panic and fear are muted. There’s a warmth in his hand, heavy and familiar and not quite alive but almost close enough, and the light is beautiful.</p><p>George is beautiful.</p><p>His cheeks are pale, his eyes sallow, but he’s beautiful.</p><p><i>Please,</i> he thinks, desperation creeping through the layer of numb adoration. <i>Wake up.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><i>...and yet the happiest endings...</i><br/>Sorry for the super long wait!! If you didn't know (I've been talking about it a bit over on <a href="https://twitter.com/crappyravioli">Twitter</a> so follow me if you want to hear my Words) I've got a mess of pinched nerves in back, shoulders, elbows, and wrists so writing was difficult lmao<br/>Anywho!! I'm back, maybe not with weekly updates but they'll be pretty regular, especially bc my finals are almost over!<br/>All that said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! It would've been out sooner but formatting is a fucking bitch. Thanks so much though to my epic beta and bestie <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepfriend/pseuds/sheepfriend">Sheep</a> on here and now on <a href="https://twitter.com/sheepedfriend">Twitter</a><br/>Comments, kudos, and user subs are all like, super appreciated and stuff!! We're almost to the finish line and by god am I not going to let anything else stop me!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm honkschnoo on tumblr if you wanna chat! Comments and Kudos have been making my day! Thank you all sm!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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